


Stand Tall

by shini_amaryllis



Series: The Fine Grey Lining [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Female Harry Potter, Found Family, Hope is not a horcrux but they're still a part of the story, Hope's essentially a mob boss, Memory Loss, Molly and Hope do NOT get along, Morrigan is cryptic wtf, Seizures, The Otherworld, War, a different ending and a different story than LB's bk 7+, au of LB bk 7, dying and coming back is only recommended if you're related to death, gratuitous use of the buddy system, so is Thanatos but he's less of a dick about it, somehow the Resistance comes off as working more effectively than the Order during the war, taking a stand, tbh the Weasley kids are probably all not going to get along with her in the long run, the resistance, thems the rules, who knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shini_amaryllis/pseuds/shini_amaryllis
Summary: Looking Beyond AU of Book 7: Hope wasn't going to wait around for Tom to strike, no, better to be paranoid and preparing for all out war than safe in bed. Those Horcruxes weren't going to find themselves and that war wasn't going to win itself. No more handouts, no more shields, no more lies. They were on their own and willing to fight to the end. The Resistance stood tall. FemHarry





	1. A Choice Made

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a Looking Beyond AU where the Resistance and the War are expanded on, lasting more than a few months. Some people didn't like the Greek Myths Arc of book 8 in LB, so haha this is a bit of a twist on it. Some gods make appearances, like they do in the original and some monsters. I should say it's not as aggressively Greek Myths...it's a twist on the story.
> 
> For the lovely Cora who was very excited about this.

The white tomb was clear as day, though not possible to be seen from deep within the Chamber of Secrets, but still Hope's thoughts lingered on it with a bit of morbid interest. Dumbledore's funeral had only been earlier that day, as had the three of them telling Professor McGonagall that they wouldn't be returning in the fall.

Hope rubbed over her arms, feeling uncommonly cold, despite the heat.

"So, what's the plan?" Ron's voice brought her back and she looked up. "You've got the 'I've got a plan' look."

Hope's mouth twitched, her eyes flicking between him and Hermione. She sat there for a moment, considering everything. She had a small pocket journal in her hands, spattered with various ink splotches alongside heated notes about Horcruxes.

"Dumbledore's dead," she said finally, "he's the last person that Voldemort was really afraid of…so any reason for him to wait it out died with Dumbledore…Fred and George are saying the Order thinks he won't attack until the Trace fades when I'm seventeen, but if I know Tom…he won't want to wait that long."

Hermione stiffened and Ron scowled.

"You think he'll be waiting for you when you get back to the Dursleys?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe, maybe not, but personally I'm not really planning to find out." Hope shrugged. "And I'm through with listening to what the Order says, nothing they've said, nothing they've  _done_  has made me feel any safer or any more like they  _weren't_  trying to keep information from us…"

Hope remembered months ago when she'd snapped before Bellatrix had tried to grab her.  _"Let me know if you need me to vanquish any Dark Lords, since that's apparently all I'm good for!"_ It honestly still felt like that. "At this rate we'd probably be better off making our own resistance."

"That's not a half-bad idea," Ron said after a moment.

" _What?_  Of course, it's a bad idea!" Hope countered. "Leading a resistance? Are you  _mad?"_

"You're the one that suggested it!" he countered. "Besides, you've been leading the DA for two years, how is this any different?"

Hope raked a hand through her hair. " _Because!_  Because this is  _different!_  This is  _war!"_

"That's what you've been telling us the whole time!" Ron insisted and Hermione nodded in agreement. "That it's different out there! That it's different when people are trying to kill you! We fought in the Department of Mysteries and we fought here! We know what we're doing and we're not afraid to fight for it!"

Hope found herself staring a bit bemusedly at both him and Hermione. There had been no question of taking them with her to find the Horcruxes…but this? Hope didn't know. She pressed a hand against her brow, rubbing over her scar. "I'm not saying that it wouldn't be a good idea…but where would we even start?"

"Could start by informing the masses," a voice piped up and Hope twisted wildly to see almost every DA member making their way down the stairs that led into the antechamber. Ginny, Luna, and Neville to Susan, Hannah, and Daphne and fully at the back "Fred! What're you doing here?"

"George wanted to come, but someone's got to man the shop," Fred shrugged, holding up his galleon and Hope shot a look to Hermione who grinned back shamelessly. He squeezed her shoulders comfortingly before finding a seat. "Are we rebelling again?  _Brilliant!"_

"It's under debate," she said dryly as everyone got situated, "but this isn't a dictatorship…I'm taking everyone's decisions into account…Hermione and Ron feel it would be a good idea to form a resistance of sorts, like the Order of the Phoenix but more effective."

Fred and Angelina, two who were a part of the Order as well, snorted.

"Hell yeah!" Tracey grinned. "Count me in!"

"Anything to bring the Death Eaters down!" Colin agreed.

And Hope was more stunned that no one seemed against it. "This is dangerous," she half-heartedly tried to discourage them.

"Hope, people have been trying to kill you since you were one and you've never backed down," Ginny pointed out, "why should we?"

"Hear, hear!" Seamus squeezed her hip from where she was sitting on his lap, and the echoing agreement made warmth bloom in Hope's chest as she looked around at them all…all of them willing to follow her into a war that no one could really see the end to.

Now they were really going to need a plan. A plan and codes and contingencies. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Hope had lied, but that was nothing new.

She'd told George she was moving back in with the Dursleys very briefly before everything got underway, and as far as everyone else was concerned, she'd been living there all along, but she lied. That wasn't part of the plan that the rest of the DA knew. The plans they'd made with the DA -soon to be firmly the Resistance because Hope hated the idea of being in an army for Dumbledore, and always had- weren't yet to come into play and the three of them needed to make sure they actually had a place for everyone to hole up in.

Hermione helped her with a complicated bit of magic to fool the Order members tailing her and Hope watched the illusion of herself enter the cab with Hermione at her side, both waving goodbye to Ron with Hedwig resting in her cage beside Pig, looking a bit doleful. She watched them disappeared before sliding a pair of obnoxious glasses onto her nose, turning her eyes brown and hair a mass of black curls, taking her bag and heading in the opposite direction.

Hope had learned to be cautious over the years and now, on the cusp of war, that skill was paying for itself. She'd only paid for an apartment for 3 months in advance, but she wouldn't need to use it very long, but it was a better place to hide out in the mean time since she was so doubtful about Number Four being even remotely safe.

" _Did you make it fine? Were you tailed?"_  was the first thing out of Hermione's mouth when she called her from the apartment's phone.

"I'm fine," Hope assured her, taking a look out of the window. She was very high up, enough to see a good portion of London without much difficulty. "We're in the clear…we're going to need to start planning how this Resistance is going to work, though…everyone standing by with their galleons?"

" _Yes,"_  Hermione said with a faint rustling that told Hope she was pulling out her own,  _"but don't you think the Order's going to figure out you're not actually at the house soon?"_

"Probably," Hope conceded, dumping her bag onto the bed, "but they've been trying to keep us in the dark since He came back so I really don't think they have the right to complain or demand anything of us…I'd say this fight is more ours than theirs, to be honest." They'd had their chance trying their way, now it was Hope's way.

" _You would, wouldn't you,"_  Hermione retorted wryly before pausing listening to something that Hope couldn't make out. " _Well,"_  she managed to say a bit strangled, " _it looks like you were right."_

"What d'you mean?"

" _Number Four just went up in smoke,"_  Hermione said in a would-be-calm voice, " _I'd say the war's just begun."_

Hope's lips thinned into a line and she almost felt something, but the Dursleys had never made her at home there, had never made her happy to be there. Her leg twinged over her old scar. "Any survivors?"

" _Can't tell, it's still early,"_  Hermione said, undoubtedly listening to the television. " _Are you sure it's okay where you are?"_

"I thought you weren't going to attempt the Obliviate until later?" Hope asked cautiously.

" _I wasn't…but after this…"_  Hope could practically feel Hermione vibrating with worry.  _"My house doesn't have the same kind of protections as Ron's…it might be safer."_

"It might be," Hope agreed carefully.

There was silence on the other end while Hermione came to the necessary conclusion.  _"I'll be there in twenty minutes,"_  she told Hope before hanging up.

And, sure enough, twenty minutes later, Hope was hugging Hermione in her arms as she sobbed into her shoulder.

* * *

"Is she all right?" Ron smoothed his girlfriend's fringe away from her face as he sat on the edge of her bed, taking the cup Hope handed him.

"She's been better, I think," Hope muttered, "I think the idea that her parents won't ever know who she is again…I think that really broke her. She cried for hours." Reversing that spell…it was difficult and it hardly ever worked. It was the last option for Hermione, but that wasn't to say it didn't do the job. It did it far too well.

Ron took a drink and coughed. "Is this  _Firewhiskey?"_

Hope winked, downing hers. "How goes it at the Burrow?"

"Well, Moody's somewhere between pissed and impressed with you, but I think that's usual for him. The Order's driving themselves mad trying to find you…they actually are staking out Grimmauld Place since they can't get in anymore…something about you upping the protections?" He noticed Hope's smirk.

"We're going to need to sack it and see if it has anything we might need," Hope muttered to herself, "books, potions, anything that could be useful…then we need to check out Pithos…"

Ron snorted. "So, the plan's changed a bit, hasn't it?"

"Not totally, we knew we'd have to get things ready before the Resistance is fully formed." Hope added tea to her cup this time and Ron downed his Firewhiskey and offered her his cup as well. "I honestly wasn't expecting them to attack the Dursleys right away, though…any word on that yet?"

"No survivors," Ron told her flatly, and Hope nodded, she'd been bracing for it for hours, expected it, but yet…

"Is it bad that I don't really feel anything?" she asked him carefully.

"Well, I'd feel poorly about a family that kept me in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years," Ron conceded, "we won't think less of you, if that's what you're asking."

"Thanks," Hope muttered. "Hermione and I'll take a train as close as we can get to Ottery St. Catchpole on my birthday, don't tell them that, but that's the plan."

Ron nodded in understanding. Without the Trace on her, they'd be able to travel more easily. Hope didn't like much relying on wand-magic to begin with, but it made it easier to know that no one would be able to track her if she did happen to use wand-magic.

"Muggle transportation only is our safest bet," Hope added, looking out the window, unusually solemn.

"George sends his love," Ron told her in the hopes of coaxing a smile out, and her mouth did twitch, curving upwards slightly. "He's annoyed that you're only going through me, but he understands, probably more than the Order at this point…misses you, though."

Hope's lips formed into a genuine soft smile at that. "He wants to marry me," she told Ron and Ron, who had listened to so much flirting over the years, couldn't bring himself to be surprised. "But I told him I can't right now…not with everything that's going on."

"He'll wait," Ron said with certainty. "He's never loved anyone as much as he's loved you."

Hope flushed pink and looked away.

"Mum's getting annoyed, though," he added, quieting his voice when Hermione shifted in her sleep. "I threatened to move out when she tried to keep me from leaving to meet you guys, but I don't think she's going to stop."

Hope rolled her eyes. "Why is she being so over the top? Or has she always been and I just haven't noticed?"

"Eh." Ron made a 'so-so' gesture. "She coddles and stifles us, I can't deny that. It was nicer when we were kids, but now it's just  _overbearing_ …and Percy and Ginny were always her favourites, but now Percy's gone and Ginny's more like you -reckless and not willing to follow any of the rules-…she pushed the Twins aside a lot for Percy and can't even tell the difference between the two of them, which might be part of the reason they don't get on as well with her as they do with Dad."

Hope pursed her lips. "If it's easier for you to stay, Hermione and I can handle the preparations front."

"No, I  _need_  to get out of the house," Ron grimaced, "there's only so much I can take…when did you want to tackle Grimmauld Place?"

"Give it a few days…maybe by then things will have calmed down a little, but we can go through my and Hermione's things and figure out what we should keep with us and throw out," Hope considered thoughtfully. "We'll be laying low for now, I think."

"Probably the smartest idea," Ron admitted and Hope smiled faintly, clicking their mugs together.

"Here's to starting a resistance."

* * *

"They think you know something."

"The Order always thinks I know everything about Hope," George said with a scowl, stirring an oozing cauldron with disinterest as his father looked around the apartment. There wasn't any sign that his girlfriend had been living there with him for months, none of her clothes, none of her books, nothing. "That's usually Ron or Hermione… _besides_ , she wouldn't be stupid enough to tell me what her plans were because you lot are always interrogating me."

There was a reason why Fred had gone to that DA meeting and not him. The Order and anyone else would look to him first, if not Hermione and Ron and as long as Fred knew what was going on and told him what he needed to know, he was fine with that.

And Hope knew how to look after herself, so George wasn't too worried, but…he couldn't help but worry a little.

His father gave him a regretful look. "Feeling a bit at odds?"

"Something like that." George glanced to the small mirror beside him. It was the one that had once been connected to Hope's compact. So many hours George had seen her face framed within it, but it had completely shattered from whatever Hope had done to it on the other end. His girlfriend was nothing if not suspicious.

"I'm sorry about that."

George rolled his eyes, adding some nettles to the potion. "You're not  _really_  the interrogating type, Dad…I'm just on edge…I haven't seen Hope in weeks and I'll probably not be able to see her for a few more weeks and it's  _hell_  for me."

For some reason a ruddy flush appeared on his father's cheeks. "I realize I never really had that talk with you and Fred—"

" _Oh no,"_  George said, horrified.

"But every young man experiences urges—"

" _For the love of Merlin!"_  George's eyes nearly popped out of his head and he flushed to the tips of his ears. "We're  _not_  sleeping together!"

Arthur paused, surprised. "You're not?"

George smacked his hand to his face. "Merlin, no! We snog and sleep in the same bed, that's it, and I'm fine with that!"

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "You are?"

But George shrugged, flustered. "We're not in a real hurry for… _that._  Besides, Hope was still dealing with Sirius last year that it would've been in really poor form…it'll happen when it happens."

Arthur looked like he didn't know if he was pleased about that or not, but since Hope was still sixteen, it was probably better that they weren't… _active_  in that sense.

"All I know," George continued, "is what Ron's said, that Hope and Hermione are going to show up at the Burrow sometime before the wedding, that's it."

He didn't tell them about the DA, soon to be firmly called the Resistance (Hope had only barely stomached it being called the DA when she hated Dumbledore so much), and what they were planning, even with half the information.

George was entitled to his own secrets.

* * *

Hope was startled terribly the first moment she stepped foot in Grimmauld Place, stepping back into Ron and Hermione when they just managed to Apparate on the doorstep and push their way inside, remaining out of sight of anyone who could be watching. Hermione had to choke out a counter-curse as Ron and Hope gaped at the sight of Dumbledore, horribly wasted and sunken in.

" _Fucking Mad-Eye,"_  Hope gripped Ron's arm tightly, "remind me to  _kill_ him next time I see him." Putting a curse on her fucking house. She guessed since she'd tweaked the wards he hadn't been able to get in, but figured a curse wouldn't hurt and since it was just another protective measure, the house accepted it…fucking Mad-Eye.

"Get in line," Ron rasped and Hermione couldn't help but whimper, "let's just get what we need and leave, yeah?"

"In and out and never again," Hermione agreed and they all gave each other a nod before splitting off. Hermione went to the library, Ron went to search the rooms, and Hope looked for what she could.

Her fingers danced close to the spindly many legged instruments that had once tried to puncture her skin so long ago but now remained so unmoving, the music box that made such sleep-inducing music that it had almost knocked them out last time.

Hope kept the bunch of rusty daggers she found -they'd be decent once she cleaned and sharpened them, Sirius had taught her how back when he'd given her one as a gift- if nothing else, it would give her something to do in the coming weeks, but she left the Black signet ring that had once been offered to her by Dumbledore since she was Sirius' heir but it been a gesture done in poor taste at the time that Hope had refused…Hope had enough rings, if you asked her.

She collected up the daggers, several potion bottles of varying sizes and shapes, and some cauldrons that might find some use in the Resistance before finally heading upstairs, starting first with her old room.

Somehow, despite most of the house being a bit in disarray -Hope didn't know if that was from them or someone getting around the wards and she didn't want to find out-, Hope's room had remained untouched. Hope had left a few articles of clothing the last time she'd been there, and she added them to her box, before taking note of something new, a white box pushed half-under her bed. On it, in Sirius' hasty scrawl, was written only two words:  _For Hope._  She pulled the strings that bound it loose so that she could look within.

If she had been expecting some kind of deep letter about all the things Sirius wished he could have done, in the event that he died before he could give her the package himself, she would have been sadly mistaken, but Hope knew better. Sirius just wouldn't have been the type.

He would have wanted to give it to her himself.

Hope shook her head to clear it of the dark thoughts before she lifted the first thing out of the box. It was a red leather-bound book with a lion's head sewn into the cover. Upon opening it, Hope wasn't at all surprised to discover that it held pictures of the Marauders (Peter Pettigrew, thankfully, had walked out of each of the frames) and Lily and her friends.

She already had one photo album, but it was more focused on her parents, and it had mostly from their last year and up until a little after Hope had been born. This one, by contrast, started with them young and progressed with a few pictures of her mother and her friends thrown in. The last few pages where of her recent years, standing in her robes before the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament with Remus, another was of when she had fallen asleep in Grimmauld Place's sitting room with her head resting on Sirius' shoulder…

Hope closed the album with a forlorn sigh before pulling the second item towards her. It was a small package, like the kind that usually held jewellery.

She lifted the lid to see what he had left her, and she couldn't help but gasp softly at what lay within.

Sirius knew better than most people how proud she was of her lineage and his gift reflected that. It was a coiled silver snake with an emerald clutched in its jaws. It was truly a beautiful gift. Hope pricked a finger slightly on one of the sharp fangs with interest.

In the back of her mind, Hope could see her wearing it in her wedding, if she survived long enough to actually agree to marry George…but it was a passing fancy; the only thing ahead of her was Voldemort and with how badly he wanted her dead, that wasn't likely to change anytime soon.

Was it really that he wanted her dead because of some half-baked prophecy…or was it something else, too, that had caused him to hunt her down so fiercely after she'd been born?

Hope pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking back to that night she had looked through that veil in the Department of Mysteries and seen those dark eyes staring back at her. There was something familiar about them, more than the bleary figure she remembered from when she was ten who had touched her arm with an ice-cold hand that jarred her back to life, forcing her from what Hope could only assume was Death himself.

She looked up, her image catching in the mirror and she paused, because, for a moment, there seemed to be something more to the reflection than what she saw; more than a hastily braided crimson plait down her back, cheeks pale and lined with tension, green eyes weary. For a moment there seemed to be something more, almost something that glowed, but an instant later it had gone and Hope was only left feeling befuddled.

Ron's voice suddenly called out: "Hey, I think you two need to come see this." And Hope and Hermione left their respective rooms to see Ron staring at a plaque on a door.

"What is it?" Hope asked, befuddled, looking up to read the neatly etched words:  _Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black._

"I think it's R.A.B," Ron said and Hermione's mouth unhinged and Hope's eyes widened, thinking about the note within the fake locket.

"Sirius' brother?" Hermione murmured.

"Sirius told me he joined the Death Eaters," Hope told them, "but after a while he tried to back out and they killed him for it."

"And that makes sense," Hermione agreed, bobbing her head. "If he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!"

"D'you think the locket's in there?" Ron asked them.

None of them were speaking above a whisper, almost as if apprehension was silencing them.

"I guess there's only one way to find out," Hope conceded, grasping the knob and twisting it open carefully as if she was expecting it to be booby trapped, but it was not, so Hope swung the door completely open so that they could see the room.

It was smaller than Sirius', that much Hope could tell, even though she'd only been in her godfather's room a few times, no doubt owing to Regulus being the second born, and he had clearly been very proud of the House he had been sorted into, and of the Pure-blood ideology his parents had thrust upon him from an early age, the same ideology that Sirius had rejected. There were a number of yellowing parchments fastened to the wall that Hermione went to inspect.

"They're all about Voldemort," she told them as the other two eyed the room cautiously (Ron actually knelt on the ground to see if there was anything under the bed). "Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters..."

"Aren't they all?" Hope asked with a frown as Ron moved carefully around the wardrobe, careful of the stray robes within, since the last set of robes he had disturbed in the house had nearly strangled him during their fifth year.

Hermione had to make a small noise of agreement.

"Shouldn't we just summon it?" Ron asked suddenly, but Hope shook her head.

"No, it's probably enchanted so it can't be summoned," she said, "the fake actually had Inferi guarding it."

"Great," Ron drawled out.

"I'm sure it won't be that drastic," Hermione told him, "since Regulus removed the real one."

They all picked a corner of the room and began to search rather diligently, but had to reluctantly agree that everything in the room was relatively worthless.

"Just because it's not in his room doesn't mean it's not in the house," Hermione said seriously, tapping her chin thoughtfully as she did so. "Whether he'd manage to destroy it or not, he'd want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn't he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place, even though we didn't realize it at...at..."

Hermione went stock still and Hope and Ron had to stop and stare at her.

"Hermione?" Ron asked in concern, raising a hand to cup her cheek as Hermione's dazed eyes drifted towards him. "What's wrong?"

"There was a locket," she all but whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Hope asked.

"In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we...we..." Hermione grasped Hope's arm. "And  _you!_  You had an intense headache and you had to leave, don't you remember? You and Ginny helped clean the kitchen while we did the drawing room."

"You think she was sensing a Horcrux?" Ron asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"What else could it be?" Hermione was positively beaming as she turned towards Ron this time. "She's got a connection with Voldemort that none of us understand! What if when she's in close proximity to a Horcrux, it sends off some kind of signal!"

"You're forgetting something," Hope reminded her. "I had Tom Riddle's diary with me and I didn't get a kind of headache like with that locket."

"But you were more irritated," Ron pointed out, frowning as he recalled it, "and a little off-balance, like you were dizzy…Ginny thought you couldn't stand to be around her back then, it really upset her."

Hope frowned, feeling a spike of regret at that.

"The locket isn't in the room anymore, though," she told them, "I just went through it, it's not there."

"What about Kreacher?" Hermione pressed. "Wouldn't he know something?"

Hope's lips twisted. "If he knew anything, he took it to the grave."

Hermione and Ron started in surprise at that. "He's  _dead?"_

Maybe it was bitterness, maybe it was anger, maybe it was something else entirely, but Hope couldn't bring herself to care. Kreacher was the reason her godfather was dead, he was the one that had been passing secrets to the Malfoys for the year leading up to his death and she couldn't bring herself to be sad. "Everyone dies," she said instead. "Kreacher was old."

Death was something that most people feared, but not Hope, never Hope. Hope had seen Death and she wasn't afraid; Death was in her bones, in her veins, and no matter what, death always made  _sense._

"Looks like we're on our own in this," she said with steely eyes. "No more handouts, no more shields…if we want to destroy the Horcruxes, we'll do it on our own. No more hiding and no more lies."

Hermione and Ron nodded seriously, as one.

"Well," Ron amended, "not entirely alone."

A grin cracked briefly across Hope's mouth.

"No," she said, "I guess not."

Not alone, not anymore.

The Resistance would stand tall as the world crashed and burned around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Resistance is going to be very central to the plot, the Horcruxes are important, but there's something also going on in the background that'll show up later. Honestly, you guys are probably going to see a lot of Hope using Muggle means in this war…partially because I like the irony of Hope killing some DEs with Muggle weapons


	2. Abandonment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a familiar scene to LB, but you'll see that a few times until we really diverge, which we kinda are this chapter. Get ready for mythic might :)

Sirius fell back and Hope surged forward, a cry on her lips, eyes wide as she screamed. Remus had to move quickly to grab her around the waist and hoist her back, away from the Veil, but it had done its work.

" _Sirius!"_

She jolted awake in her bed, breathing in and out heavily, pressing a hand over her eyes before looking down at her right arm. She sat up with a loud creak and Hermione mumbled out a tired "Hope?"

Hope flipped on the light at the bedside, fingers fumbling as she pulled off the brace that had been invisible against her skin until she undid the straps. "Hope?"

Her hand trembled, her whole arm shook. She tightened her hand into a fist and gritted her teeth as Hermione came around the bed, unsurprised but concerned.

"I thought it was getting better," she said quietly, kneeling in front of Hope as she sat on the edge of the bed trying to stave off the tremors that the brace had suppressed the entire day.

"More like worse," Hope muttered, thinking back to that night, to that horrible night. Hope's thumb and two fingers had brushed against the Veil, against the gateway between mortal and something else, and that had consequences.

She hadn't realized it until later, not even considering how off her aim had been that night, but the tremors that shook through her arm that night weren't natural or normal. Hermione had been upset, Ron had been startled, but it wasn't something Hope had ever wanted people to know about it. Besides, it hadn't been a big deal at the time, just a few tremors, nothing to worry about. Hermione had been the one to get her the arm brace and enchant it to suppress the tremors, camouflaging to her skin; Hope had been having such a terrible time at that point that she'd choked up.

Then it got bad enough for George to notice. The alternating periods of fever and coughing fits and tremors had been rather obvious after they started living together. Hope had spent the whole year in a haze of illness and by some miracle, no one outside those three had noticed; Hope personally blamed that on the pepper-up potion she'd been downing by the bucket.

It used to last for seconds and then for minutes and this time, Hope struggled with the tremors for a quarter of an hour until they finally abated slightly and she felt like she could breathe again. They'd start up again in a few minutes, the tremor spell wasn't yet done.

"Hope?" Hermione touched the hand that had shaken so much. "Maybe you need to let a healer look at your arm…its been a year and if its only getting  _worse…"_

Her hand spasmed at the thought. "I'm fine," she bit out the usual answer, "it's nothing I can't handle."

Hermione gave her a look full of doubt. " _Hope,"_  she pressed, "these kinds of…these kinds of tremors? They're getting to be something you can't handle…you  _need_ treatment."

Hope bit back a harsh laugh at that. She rubbed her fingers together, the ones that had breached the Veil before she'd been pulled back. "Hermione," she almost sighed, "this isn't something that can be fixed by a healer or a doctor or anything else… _it can't be fixed_. I touched something godly, this is my consequence."

Hermione ground her teeth together, wanting to reply, wanting to counter, but something stalled her. Hope had always had a healthy love of the classical myths and occasionally swore by them ("Sweet Persephone!" "By Hades, kill me now!") but Hermione had never quite believed her about what she said she'd seen when she'd flatlined after Dudley pushed her in front of a car at ten, about the eyes she'd seen beyond the Veil…it seemed too… _unlikely_. Magic, Hermione could believe, but myth? Somehow it was too much for her mind to comprehend.

"Go back to bed, Hermione," Hope said to her, standing and grabbing a book from beside her. "I'll just wait for the storm to pass."

Hermione wanted to argue, but Hope patted her arm as she passed her, the beginnings of another tremor spell winding down the arm once more. Hope was always the more stubborn of the three of them…and this wasn't something Hermione could run to get a professor for, it was too late for that now. This wasn't a Firebolt that might be hexed by a supposed wanted criminal, this was Hope's health, and ultimately, it was her choice to do or do not do anything about it.

Even if Hermione didn't agree, she'd respect it.

Trust went both ways.

* * *

Hope was used to standing out in a crowd, but this time she made an effort to disappear. She darkened her hair to the colour of brown that was Hermione's with eyes to match. Anyone would've thought they looked like sisters, which was the point. Hope's hair and eyes were as distinctive as her scar at this point.

They'd walked into Gringotts and walked out with all the gold, silver, and bronze that had been left in Hope's vault -the only one that she had access to- and every document that Gringotts had for her family. She wasn't sure if they'd be important, but she'd rather have them than leave them with Gringotts.

When they'd left Gringotts, half of the gold had been switched for Muggle pounds.

That was what they'd relayed to Ron before he came to join them, though they'd said something about ducking out to load up on food.

And that was how Ron found them a few hours later, not even knocking as he opened the door. He cleared his throat as he stepped into the apartment, keenly aware of the one wand and one outstretched hand aimed at him (Hope was always a better shot with her blood magic). "So, how's everything been going?"

Hermione lowered her wand with a smile while Hope attempted to look as though she'd been messing with her hair but couldn't quite make it work.

He could see gold, silver, and bronze separated from what he knew to be Muggle pounds on the table, just like they said. It looked like a lot of money and another day, another time that would've annoyed him, but he knew that Hope would've traded all the money in the world for even a moment with her parents once more.

"What's all this?" he asked, leaning down to kiss Hermione's cheek, making her smile faintly.

She was surrounded by a number of strange cans with pictures and words on them. "Food, non-perishables seemed like the best option. It seemed like a good idea to have something rather than nothing…it probably won't be enough to last all of us when we finally get to Pithos -and we've still got to check it out- but it won't take us months to get there, so we should be set."

Ron arched an eyebrow, lifting one of the cans with interest before snorting as Hermione waved her wand to send the vast array of cans of supposed food into one of the two beaded bags, which gave no indication of what lay within it. The undetectable extension charm did its work. And then she started in on the large pile of books.

"You were saying something about books," Hope mentioned from the opposite bed, pausing to drink the cup of juice beside her. "Horcrux books, but I didn't think there were any."

"Well, er, there weren't any in the library," Hermione admitted, pink suffusing across her face. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he-he didn't destroy them."

Ron took the time to goggle at his girlfriend as if he had never seen her clearly. "How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"

"I, well—" Hermione appeared rather flustered. "Dumbledore must have taken them off the shelf after Voldemort read them, but he didn't destroy them, so I just did the Summoning Charm on them after the funeral and they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"Is that why you took so long coming down to the common room?" Hope asked.

Hermione nodded her head.

"It just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be... and I was alone in there... so I tried, and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I packed them," she admitted, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Hermione," Ron snorted, "do we look like we're judging you?"

Hope sniggered into her cup of juice. "So, what did you find?"

Hermione stood to pull a book she had hidden under her bed, touching it as little as possible. It was thick and bound with black leather.

" _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ," Hope read out the faded title. She handled it easily without as much disdain as Hermione, but she'd always been more interested in topics that others considered dark and unspeakable.

"It's a horrible book," Hermione said with a look of displeasure, "really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library…if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here, since it gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux."

"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" Ron asked, eyeing the book warily.

"That was about what would happen if you split your soul seven ways," Hope corrected.

"If you do all that, you know, split your soul and hide the piece an object…can you even put yourself back together?" Ron asked.

Hope shrugged. "I dunno."

"There is actually." Hope wasn't even surprised to discover that Hermione had the answer. "But it would be excruciatingly painful."

"How so?" Hope asked, a frown marring her forehead.

"You've got to really  _feel_ what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently, the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?"

"No," Hope and Ron said at once.

"But how do you destroy them?" Ron added. "It's not like we should just go around carrying bits of Voldemort's soul with us."

"Has the book got anything about that?" Hope asked hopefully. That would certainly make it easier.

"Yes," Hermione said with a grimace, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Hope did to Riddle's diary was one of the few really fool proof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"A basilisk fang can destroy a Horcrux, but is it the only thing that can?" Hope asked, snagging the cheese cube Ron was reaching for.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, screwing up her face in thought. "But it does have to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare—"

"Phoenix tears," Ron agreed. He had been holding Hope when the Fawkes had cried onto her wound, thinking, rightly so, that she was dying.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it beyond magical repair."

"And you're saying once we do that, we destroy the bit of soul?" Hope asked.

"Quite effectively," Hermione agreed.

Ron checked his watch. "Guys, I've only got another forty-five minutes until Dad wants me back…"

"Right," Hermione agreed, "we should get to sorting…I'm thinking  _no_  to  _Defensive Magical Theory_."

Hope scowled at the book. "The real question is why didn't you throw that out before sixth year?"

"I can't throw away books!" Hermione sounded horrified as Ron howled with laughter.

Hope shook her head, turning back to whatever it was that she was doing.

"What's that?" Ron had to ask.

"Walkie-talkies…they're sort of like communicators, like you know how you once tried to call the Dursleys? It's like that." She showed him one, demonstrating how you clicked a button for the spoken words to come out another, which was strange to see. "We needed one for each member and Hermione's going to find a way to boost the signals…but I honestly think sticking to Muggle means is going to be more helpful than magical at this rate."

Ron had to agree with her there, there was little chance of Voldemort doing the same if he had the opportunity, given how much he hated Muggle-borns, using Muggle technology was a no. There was a piece of tape on three of them with marker to designate them.  _Elpis, Metis_ , and  _Pwyll_ , the code names Hope had given them when all of the DA was together. He was guessing that each member was going to get their own.

He picked up his own.

"Ron?" Hope's brow wrinkled. "Are you okay?" Both she and Hermione were looking at him in concern.

"Sorry," Ron said quickly, "I just, I don't know, I feel like it just kinda _hit_  me…we're really doing this, there's  _really_  going to be a war."

Hope's lips thinned, her expression a serious slate while Hermione bit her lip. "War's been going on for as long as we've been alive, Ron, its only picking up traction now."

"And you're not afraid?" Ron asked archly. "Of dying or anything?"

"Its not dying that's the problem, I've died before, its not so bad…its what you leave behind." Hope thought about her parents and Sirius. "I don't mind dying, but I'd rather not."

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "You're impossible."

Hope flashed her a smile but Ron knew for a fact he wouldn't be telling George that little tidbit. Hope was headstrong and determined, but even Ron couldn't wrap his head around being open to dying, to not be afraid of it. Maybe that was just because his experiences with death weren't quite the same as Hope's…but no one had the same kind of experiences with death as Hope.

* * *

" _Elpis, Elpis…"_  the voice whispered and Hope opened her eyes only to start wildly. She was in a graveyard and Hope definitely didn't remember being in a graveyard.

"This is a dream, right?" she muttered to herself, twisting around. She didn't remember walking into a graveyard, in fact, the only one she'd actually been in had been the one in Little Hangleton, where Voldemort had risen again. "Has to be…" But it felt so  _real._

Hope couldn't remember the last time a dream had felt so real. She could feel the grave dirt beneath her feet, and the chill in the air.

She was standing in front of a gravestone, a very old one indicating a death sometime in the twelve hundreds.  _Adelaide Peverell_  was the name inscribed in a delicate script into the roughened stone. Hope knelt to brush the vines and earth from the inscription beneath her name: _Never should death be feared, for death and life are one, as the sea and the river are._

Adelaide Peverell…now where had Hope heard that name before? She traced the curves of the name, trying to imagine the person who the name had once belonged to, and then she stood, taking a look at the other graves around her.

 _Antioch Peverell,_  1210-1235

 _Cadmus Peverell,_  1212-1235

 _Ignotus Peverell_ , 1214-1292

They all seemed so familiar but Hope couldn't quite recall…she'd read them  _somewhere…_

She continued walking through the cemetery, picking out names every now and then that filled with the same kind of sensation that she both knew them and didn't.

 _Vivienne Peverell, Iolanthe Peverell, Ralston Potter, Marcel Gaunt, Peleus Blackwood_ …the names stretched on, and it felt like she was walking an age before she came across the most recent ones.

 _Thalia_  and  _Aglaia Blackwood_  who looked like they'd died the same year as her parents…and then…

"Dad," Hope whispered, dropping to her knees before the last gravestone.  _James Potter_  was etched boldly into the stone.  _The last enemy that shall be defeated is death._

Wet dirt bit into the knees of her pants and Hope looked down into the puddle that lay before her. Her face rippled across it. Green eyes, sharp like knives, dark red hair half in a plait, half falling out of it, there was sweat and blood on her cheeks, and there was a weapon in her hand and another strapped to her leg…

The Hope in the reflection looked like a warrior when Hope still felt like…felt like that girl that had screamed for Sirius, touched something undoubtedly godly, and then tried her hand at the  _Avada Kedavra._

" _Magic will not save you,"_  a voice whispered in her ear and Hope startled, dragging herself into a standing position.  _"Abandon it before it abandons you, child."_

There was no one there and Hope coughed viciously into her hand, her skin growing warm again, even in the dream. When she pulled her hand from her mouth, crimson staining her palm.

She gritted her teeth together, tensing her legs, preparing to run when a new voice stopped her.

"Running won't get you anywhere."

Hope turned back to the gravestone that was inscribed with Aglaia Blackwood. There was a girl there about Hope's age, maybe a little older -it was hard to tell-. She had red hair too, shorn short in a pixie style that Hope had seen on Tonks too many times, but her eyes were a piercing blue, and she was sitting against the gravestone, picking at her nails with a knife.

"What?"

"Running," the girl told her, making a gesture with her knife towards Hope's general person, "it won't get you anywhere, it won't get you where you need to go."

"Where do I need to go?" Hope asked flummoxed, tensing suddenly at the flash of lightning and the girl -Aglaia, she presumed- sighed, hopping off her tombstone to walk up to Hope.

She considered her, looking her up and down as if trying to see something that wasn't there, then Aglaia sighed again. "You really don't know anything about your family, do you?"

"Well, no, my parents have been dead since I was  _one,_  so…"

"Oh." Aglaia blinked, surprised and then not. "The one that's been hunting you since you were born…what's his name?"

It was almost amusing someone not knowing Voldemort's name. "Voldemort?"

"Yeah, that ass." Aglaia waved a hand. "He wants something that you have…years ago he thought it was me or my sister Thalia." Her eyes darkened with pain as she looked back to the gravestone that had rested beside hers. "He made me watch as he killed her and tried to use her blood in a ritual…and when it didn't work, he turned to me…and when  _that_ didn't work, he went to your father and then to you…and then he  _stopped."_

"Yeah, he was almost destroyed by my mother's love,  _supposedly,"_  Hope said, almost with a roll of her eyes. She had never quite believed that.

Aglaia snorted her doubt. "More like she found an effective curse to destroy his body…no, he  _stopped_ because he'd found what he was looking for:  _you."_

"Me?" Hope blinked. There was that prophecy…Dumbledore had said that was the reason he'd gone after her family, because she was the only one it could be…but he'd also said something about Voldemort making the prophecy come true by acting on it, besides, Hope had hardly trusted his word when he was alive, why bother now that he was dead? "I don't have anything—"

"You have your blood, don't you? Your bones? Your heart?" Aglaia arched an eyebrow. "Power comes from the  _body,_  the  _mind,_  Elpis Slytherin. Yours is particularly dangerous, that's why you're so sick."

Hope's hand clenched tight. "I'm fine," she bit out. Salazar Slytherin was the last person to use that ancestral name and she wasn't sure how she liked other people using it.

"You're dying," Aglaia responded, almost bored. "You have been for a while."

" _I'm fine,"_  Hope insisted again.

Aglaia's lips twisted in dark amusement. "Mortals wouldn't have survived doing what you did…touching that Veil? That gate to the Underworld? It would've killed them…killed your godfather, didn't it?"

Hope barely restrained herself from snarling.

"Your body can't handle it…its magic versus mythic might raging inside you right now, that's why you've been so sick…your body is tearing itself apart trying to accommodate both, but it will never work." Aglaia's eyes shifted into something sad and somber. "You'll have to choose a side, or  _he'll_  choose it for you."

"Who—?"

Aglaia's hand was icy when it grabbed Hope's left wrist, turning it, exposing her forearm and there on her palm beneath the thumb was her birthmark. "An upside-down torch…now that's not  _subtle_  at all."

Hope frowned.

"Ask yourself this…what does Voldemort want more than anything?"

Hope had to consider that. The answer wasn't quite Hope, she was just someone that he wanted to dearly to kill…but he'd made all those Horcruxes so that even if his body was destroyed, he'd live on.

"Immortality."

"Right you are," Aglaia agreed, "now killing a very  _specific_ descendant of Death himself in a very  _specific_  ritual…don't you think that would get him  _exactly_  what he wants?"

And Hope shot awake, eyes flashing open in the half-light, breathing hard and feeling like her lungs were made of lead.

"Hope? What's wrong?"

Hope didn't have the chance to tell Hermione before she bolted to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. Her eyes swam but even she could see the red mixed in before she wiped her mouth, flushing before Hermione could see it before flopping back, her back resting against the edge of the tub as Hermione came in to see her bury her face into her hands and shake. There were no tears, Hope was quite beyond them.

"Hope?" she asked cautiously, kneeling beside her.

"Hermione," Hope rasped out, "everything's such a  _mess_ …and I don't think I'm going to get better."

Hermione softened, winding her arms around Hope, not knowing what to say or do, other than hold her as she trembled, knowing her thoughts on the matter weren't wanted or necessary.

* * *

Later that night, Hope found herself unable to sleep, remaining awake, her fingers twisting an old piece of parchment between them, her thoughts distant and sharp. The map to Pithos that Hermione had found some time ago in the Chamber had long been on her mind and she was going to be heading over there in a few days with Ron and Hermione in tow, but Hope wanted to…she wanted it to be hers first, to be the first to step foot within the walls, the first Slytherin since Salazar's children.

She looked over to where Hermione was sleeping with the door open while Hope sat at the table close to the door, the papers illuminated by lamplight. It was still early, Hope could flash over to the Forest of Morea -not the best idea but it was the fastest- and be back before Hermione realized it.

Hope held back another cough. They'd just run out of Pepper-Up Potion and being sick wasn't really helping Hope's reckless nature.

Hope pulled on her short boots quietly, taking the map into her pocket and leaving as quietly as possible with a torch in her hand.

She was alone walking down the hallway, so she took one step forward and focused hard, disappearing in a flash only to collide painfully with wet earth. Hope groaned in the darkness, coughing wetly on the ground and just lying there.

It wasn't as bad as when she'd flashed herself, Ron, and all of their things to Hogwarts in second year…that had been a  _terrible_  idea. This time around it was just dizzying and nauseating, and maybe it hadn't been the best idea, because a delirious warmth had spread across her skin. The fevers, Hope had come to realize, tended to coincide with her using magic, and once they stopped, the tremors started. She coughed again, fumbling for her torch and flicking it on.

It didn't do much. Hope had been stupid enough to try this when there was little to no light, but…it was either that or share this private moment with Hermione and Ron and Hope wanted this for herself, just this once, she wanted to be selfish. Hope thought she was entitled to that.

Her ears were buzzing, something felt unbearably right…she couldn't quite explain it. Like the world turning or rain falling from the heavens in a storm or flames biting at wood.

She pushed herself upright with difficulty, stumbling to gain her footing, flashing the light about. It caught on trees and undergrowth.

But she had to stop and choke on a yell when the light passed over something, a dark figure. She stumbled back, raising her hand, a blood rune on her lips when a hand forced her arm away, icy cold like Aglaia's had been in her dream.

" _Sh,"_  the voice that had whispered her name in that very same incredibly vivid dream spoke, "it's all right."

And then an icy hand found the centre of her chest and Hope was burning hotter than the sun, she was the moment of creation and destruction, she was unravelling and being knitted back together. And then Hope knew nothing but the blackness that had been his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, we're headlong into the myths already. This isn't going to be like LB book 8 though, the importance of the mythical side of things has more to do with the ritual Aglaia talked about this chapter, and, obviously, Thalia isn't around in this version.


	3. Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the poor soul that didn't want any Greek Myths…all of my fics are pretty mythology-inspired, as is JK's, a lot of the magical creatures actually have basis in mythology and as for the mythology in this fic…its important, not quite on the level of book eight's Greek Myths Arc in LB, but the mythology of this fic is important and it's part of the reason Hope and Tom are in the situations they are.
> 
> I did briefly take down the second chapter to add a brief scene to the dream sequence, but everything's back to normal now.

Hermione had heard Hope leave and she'd known where she was going. The one place that she'd wanted to go since they'd left school. Usually Hope wasn't so…r _elentless_  in her desire to do things; it was her nature to be cautious, which was why her behavior had seemed so out of character.

Hermione couldn't really feel bad about the tracking spell she'd put on Hope's arm brace -she never did go anywhere without it, so it was the safest option-, throwing her covers off and incanting a spell over a map, unsurprised to find it glow over a forest in Wales, the one that used to be known as the Forest of Morea.

She was out the door, disappearing in a sharp crack.

Her shoes caught on wet dirt and loose leaves, completely surrounded by darkness. Hermione hated that, being surrounded by nothing but blackness. Night-time was Hope's time, she was the one that liked to wander around with nothing but a dim light to see when the nightmares got too bad -which was most days-, Hermione would prefer to stay in bed.

" _Lumos!"_  She murmured and almost screamed.

Hope was lying against the ground, twitching and convulsing, her eyes rolling so that the only part that Hermione could see were the whites of her eyes. It was like watching her have a seizure but Hermione wasn't even sure if that was it, because there was something else,  _someone else_ , there.

They had a hand to her chest,  _through_  her chest, and it looked almost as though they were pulling at something indistinct and with a glow from within the cavity. It pulsed and fluttered almost like a heartbeat but it wasn't in the right place.

"Hey!  _Bombarda!"_  The light fluttered out weakly to make room for the curse, predictably blinding her once again and she had to light it again in order to see if the spell has hit. She darted forward, only to hit an invisible wall, gaping. The spell had hit, but all it had done was leave a smoldering hole in his loose sleeve, skin unmarred beneath, but he hadn't moved. "Hey!  _Stop!_  Get  _away!"_

"If I stop, she'll die," the figure said, turning their head to fix her with impossibly black eyes. Hermione was struck by the eyes more than the words. They were like onyx had been grafted to eye sockets. Hope's eyes had gone that way once, when she was angry at the insinuation that being related to Salazar Slytherin was a bad thing to have, back in second year. "Now please, be quiet, this takes focus."

"This -what-  _huh?"_  Hermione gaped, but the invisible barrier had vanished and she hovered there where she stood for a brief moment, not understanding, but then Hope seized again and Hermione darted forward, sliding to her knees on Hope's opposite side. "Hope?  _Hope_ , can you hear me?"

Hope gave no indication that she could.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded of the unknown figure, fingers tightening into Hope's shoulder, wanting to yank her away from them.

"Removing her magic," they said, "don't worry, won't be too much longer."

Hermione was thunderstruck. "You're  _what?!"_

"I could leave it in," they said almost agreeably, "but I think you know how sick she is and the longer she has it the worse she's going to get."

"But that has  _nothing_  to do with her magic!" Hermione insisted. "She's been sick since—"

"Since she touched the Veil?" She could practically feel the arched eyebrow. "I'd love to give you the full story, Miss Granger, unfortunately this is taking all my concentration…just one moment."

The hand on Hope's chest pulled back and Hope's chest convulsed once more, the color bleeding from her hair until it was stark white. Hermione had seen Hope change the color of her hair many times, but somehow the white felt more final, induced from the figure's actions, not her own wishes. With their other hand, they unscrewed the top of a bottle and Hermione watched the smoky, brightly glowing substance in their hand, slowly tipping it into the bottle and then stoppering it.

It was only then that they leaned back to push their hood back that Hermione got a good look at them from the light of her wand. He was beautiful the way a Greek statue was beautiful, carved, cold, and remote, like stone. His eyes were impossibly black and his hair was a loose bronze.

"Hello," he said smoothly, "I'm Thanatos."

"Oh,  _God,"_  Hermione managed to choke out, thinking about all those times Hope had talked about seeing Death. " _She saw you!_  In the Veil! She said she saw your eyes!"

"They are my most distinctive trait," Thanatos agreed, his attention focused back on Hope. Something about his countenance softened as he looked on her. It wasn't like how George looked at her, full of fierce love and certainty, this was an older, more pained love, the kind seen with loss. "She'll be all right once she comes out of the trance."

"The what?" Hermione smoothed the hair away from Hope's face, relieved that she'd stopped seizing, but on edge because it seemed like her breathing was slowing down.

"Removing magic is a last-ditch effort," Thanatos sighed, tucking the bottle within his robes, "not  _generally_  recommended, particularly with someone who carved blood runes into her skin to amplify power."

Hermione's hands darted to Hope's arms, startled to find them smooth and bare, as if none of the many blood runes she'd carved there had even existed. "What  _the—?"_  Even her brow was smooth, with no indication of the lightning bolt scar that had been there since she was one.

Her eyes slid back to Hope, forcing herself to think rationally. "You're a god," she said finally.

"Indeed," he said, not looking up from Hope's face. He raised his fingers to brush against the edge of her cheekbone.

"Why did you need to take her magic away?" Hermione asked carefully.

Thanatos' lips twisted. "She would've died otherwise. Magic and myth…they don't go well together, which is sort of  _ironic_  given I've rarely had a descendant that wasn't magical."

"Descendant?" Hermione faltered. "Wait…is she—?"

"My last, actually," Thanatos lamented, leaning back. "Technically, second to last, but after killing all the others, I don't think he necessarily counts anymore."

"Voldemort," Hermione breathed.

"Indeed," he said again. "My lover was a witch, an intelligent and curious woman, together we had three sons, Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus. They were half-god, half-witch with the potential for both, but godly blood is typically dormant, like in the case of your friend. She didn't appear to have a drop of godly blood in her, but when she reached out and touched the Veil, it should've killed her, it would've if she'd been human."

"But she isn't." Hermione's tongue felt swollen in her mouth.

"I'm not sure there's an  _actual_ word for what she is…but I believe godling will suit her just fine." He tilted his head to the side in a manner that was reminiscent of Hope. "Instead, touching the Veil acted as a catalyst of sorts, it sort of  _'activated'_  her godly blood like triggering a chemical reaction…does that make sense?"

Hermione wished it didn't. "Yes."

"Magic and godly blood do not mix well," Thanatos continued, "they're like…oil and water? So, you can't have someone with active godly blood using magic…unless you're a child of a goddess of magic, then it gets a bit  _dicey_ …anyway, they kind of wreak havoc on the immune system, which is why she's been so sick for the past year…a few weeks longer and it would've killed her. I removed her magic to save her life, and now her body's going into shock, trying to deal with its loss, so she's going to be effectively dead for awhile, sorry about that."

Hermione's heart fell into her stomach. "What?" she asked weakly.

"That's just how it works." Thanatos shrugged. "It's temporary, don't worry." But Hermione still lunged forward, her ear to her chest, listening for the heartbeat.

Hope's heart beat once, and then again and then there was nothing but silence. Hermione shook.

"She'll either wake up or she won't."

"What?" Hermione demanded, struggling to breathe. "I thought you said—"

"Some people can cope, others can't." Thanatos snapped his fingers and Hope's body vanished, leaving Hermione crouching alone in the dirt.

"Where -where'd you take her? Where'd she go?!" Hermione forced herself to her feet, fury rolling off her.

"She's safe," he said simply, "that's all you need to know."

"All I need—" Hermione gritted her teeth together. "That's my best friend you just kidnapped!"

"Indeed," Thanatos agreed again and then he vanished as well. (Was that his favorite response?)

" _Shit_ ," Hermione muttered.

* * *

" _Come in, Pwyll,"_  was the thing that woke Ron up in the middle of the night, and for a moment he thought he'd imagined it. " _It's Metis, come in."_

He fumbled for the miniature radio-thingie-majig. What had Hope called it? Talkie-walkie? Something like that? They'd sent out the ones to the rest of the Resistance only the previous night (Dellingr's owl had refused to take off, which didn't bode well), but they weren't active yet, only the ones Hope, Ron, and Hermione had were.

And his girlfriend's codename was easy to remember.

He pressed the button on the side, like instructed. "Metis? What's going on?"

" _Oh, nothing,"_  Hermione said, her voice strangely pitched,  _"just calling to let you know that Hope is technically dead and missing."_

Ron froze, time standing still. "You, uh, wanna run that by me again?"

" _It's, um, a long story."_

Ron looked out the window to the shining moon and glittering stars. "I've got the time."

So, she told him. It started off simple and then it got complicated. A god removing her magic and basically making her effectively dead but not really? Ron couldn't wrap his head around it.

"You trust this guy?" he asked her at the end of it.

" _Not really,"_  Hermione admitted,  _"but the way he looked at her…I think he genuinely cares about her…but, I don't know…I heard her heart stop."_

Ron swallowed thickly. Hope had died before, they knew that story, about how her cousin had pushed her in front of car. The accident that had scarred her leg and forced her to walk with a brace for two years.

If Hope was… _gone_ — _no,_  Ron couldn't think like that. He was her right hand, the strategist, he was the voice of reason.

" _What do we do?"_  Hermione pressed.

Ron flipped the lamp on at his bedside table, throwing sharp shadows across the room. His chess board was missing half the pieces.

"If people found out Hope was missing there'd be panic," he said after a long moment, "I say we give her two weeks before we start to worry, that'll give her time…maybe it'll only be a day or so and she'll pop up again."

" _Maybe,"_  Hermione agreed, hoping against hope.

"It's a little over that until you guys are supposed to head over here anyway," Ron added, "we'll just keep our heads down and play it by ear."

There was a staticky sound on the other end. " _Doesn't sound like a solid plan."_

Ron's ears pinked, but he knew she wasn't picking on him.

" _I love you_ ," she said to him and he smiled. " _I'll see you on July 31_ _st_ _…as long as nothing else happens."_

And she ceased the connection before Ron could even begin to say 'I love you' back. He dropped the communicator onto his bedside table, running a hand through his hair and thinking hard.

Ron didn't feel comfortable with checking out Pithos without Hope. Who knew if it was actually safe to enter without a Slytherin? Salazar Slytherin struck him as the time to booby-trap his place.

Everything was ready, Pithos was the only missing piece, and now Hope. They could worry about Pithos later, but Hope…that piece worried him.

His fingers played with the chess king. He didn't know a thing about gods, that was always an interest of Hope's…but removing magic because of active god blood? Ron didn't know if there was a way he could fathom that.

Maybe Hope could explain it better once she was back. He closed his fingers around the king, pressing his closed fist against his mouth. He had to believe that, he had to have faith that she'd reappear…that she wasn't dead,  _not really._

"Dammit, Hope," he muttered and the shadows flickered.

* * *

Ginny was still awake, wide awake, a journal in her hands, thinking back to the last time she'd had a conversation with Hope.

"You wanted to talk?" Ginny asked curiously, coming down the stairs into the antechamber area behind the Chamber of Secrets to see Hope with an assortment of parchments spread across the table. "Does it have to do with the Resistance?"

"Yes." Hope held out a thin journal to Ginny and Ginny had a moment of panic, recalling the last time that someone had left her with a journal, but this one was different from Tom's; it was green and patterned with irises. "Don't open that just yet."

Ginny blinked, looking down at the notation she made on a piece of parchment before setting down the quill and twisting to lean against the table and look Ginny in the eye. "You're getting your codename early."

"What?" Ginny was surprised. Hope had only just told them they'd all be getting codenames the day before as a way to protect their identities because it was likely they were going to be in a lot of unsafe situations in the Resistance (oh, if Mum could see her now), but they would come through the galleons to keep from being found out by the enemy. "Why?" It didn't sound like it was a good thing that she alone was getting her name early.

"Your codename will be Ostara, and I'm telling you this because in the event of Elpis' - _my_ \- death, you will succeed me as head of the Resistance."

Ginny felt like a piece of lead had fallen into her stomach. "You want me to what?"

"Succeed me." Hope hadn't even blinked; how could she be  _fine_  with that? "Death and war go hand-in-hand, I'm being rational. I have the biggest target on my back and I know Hermione and Ron will do fine as my left and right hands, and yours, if it comes to that." Her jaw tightened slightly. "The Resistance will be useless if it falls apart with my death; you haven't heard of the Order doing much since Dumbledore kicked the bucket, have you?"

"No," Ginny admitted, but it hadn't actually been that long since it had happened. Though, at the moment, the Resistance dwarfed the Order in numbers alone (and if Fleur had been sent a galleon, it was likely Bill would be playing for both). "I understand, but I think you're being a bit  _morbid."_

"Maybe," Hope shrugged, picking up a glass from the table and taking a drink; it looked a little too light in color to be Firewhisky. "But it's not irrational to be prepared; Ron's always getting on me to make contingencies for contingencies."

That sounded like him.

"The journal will turn red when my heart stops beating," Hope continued, "Hermione did that enchantment, not that she approved in the  _slightest."_  She rolled her eyes with an amused grin for good measure. "You can open it now."

Ginny undid the binding around it and complied. The first page was signed by Hope herself, stating that Ginny was to be in charge of the Resistance in the event that she was unable to do so…but the other pages... "These are plans for the Resistance," she realized, incredibly in awe. "They're so detailed! You did this in one day?"

"Ron, Hermione, and I didn't get any sleep last night," Hope yawned widely for emphasis. "Read through it, but this is for  _your eyes only,_  especially the last section."

Ginny flipped through the pages until— " _Horcruxes?"_  she asked, carefully sounding out the unfamiliar word.

"That's it," Hope agreed. "Don't talk to anyone but Ron, Hermione, or me about that, understand? Those are going to lead to Tom's downfall."

Her green eyes were dark and serious and Ginny had no reason to doubt her.

At the time Ginny hadn't taken Hope's worries seriously, but now there was a red journal in Ginny's hands and tears welling in her eyes.

"Hope would plan for her death if she could get away with it," George had once joked, earning him a harsh poke in the ribs from his irritated girlfriend.

Hedwig hooted dolefully from where she was perched on top of her cage, where she'd been since Ginny had brought her home with her, and Ginny rubbed her eyes quickly to look over to the snowy owl. Hedwig's head wasn't even turned toward Ginny, the owl was looking out of the window and then Ginny had to push herself back in surprise.

Because Hedwig's feathers had darkened, her form had shrank, her beak had sharpened, until instead of a snowy owl, there was a black raven perched there.

" _Caw!"_  cried Hedwig-the-raven before sweeping out of the open window.

"What the  _hell?"_  Ginny murmured weakly a her door was opened suddenly and Ron was standing there blinking tiredly.

"What was that noise?" he grumbled.

"Hedwig just turned into a raven and flew off!" Ginny hissed heatedly.

Ron blinked a few times, which might've been more to do with him being tired and needing to wrap his head around that a few times for it to sink in. "…I'm gonna chose to take that as a good sign."

" _What?"_  Ginny asked weakly and Ron heaved a sigh, shutting the behind him when he saw the red journal, sitting down beside her, beginning to explain what Hermione had told him.

* * *

Hope groaned, rolling over, but that didn't do much for her sore limbs; she was lying on something much too hard. It was only then that her eyes actually blinked open.

The sky was slate grey, like she was looking at a ceiling instead of a sky.

"Gods below," Hope groaned, sitting up and pulling herself onto her feet and looking around in confusion. She'd come to on a road, but, strangely enough, Hope didn't remember being on one before…she'd been deep into a forest, she thought, and this was  _very obviously_  not a forest.

It was some kind of overpass, a bridge of some sort that Hope didn't quite recall…was it supposed to be familiar? Hope wasn't sure.

She twisted around to look back and had to start at the sight.

The opposite end of the road was thoroughly encased in thorns, so if Hope had walked there it would've been impossible to take the path backwards, there was only moving forward from this point.

Hope didn't like the sound of that, but she didn't really have a lot of options to consider.

One foot in front of the other, she started walking. Her footsteps against the pavement the only sound in the utter silence that it was almost unnerving, she itched to run, get off the well-traveled path but it was the only path she could see and there wasn't anyone coming…it would be fine, right?

Hope rubbed over her arms, not feeling cold, just open and exposed like internal wiring pulled out when they were meant to remain inside, and it was then that she had to look down at herself in surprise. It had always been a comfort to know the many carved blood runes in her skin if she needed them, but her hands only met smooth skin, plain, and unmarred with no hint of the blood runes, as though she'd never carved them.

"What the fuck?" she muttered to herself. That couldn't be right…they'd been there the last time she'd been awake…you couldn't just get rid of blood runes, that wasn't possible. The book Hope had on them had explained as much. Carving blood runes was similar to casting a spell from a wand, only the spell was permanently bound to the body, dormant, ready to be activated at any time. Hope had been basically a ticking time bomb on blood magic. Her arms hadn't been this bare in years.

_Hope didn't like it._

She lifted her eyes from her arms only to jump. The road she'd been on before was gone, and what was worse, she was in the middle of a forest, shadows dappling across the twisted branches and sparsely growing grass.

How was she supposed to find her way now?

A raven cawed in the distance.

She looked around, almost sighing when she saw something that looked akin to some kind of garden path, though why there'd be one in the middle of a forest, Hope didn't quite know. She moved forward, lifting a foot to place it on the path, but a voice stopped her.

"I wouldn't."

Hope set her foot down in order to turn to see a woman sitting on a low-curving branch, sharpening a black knife with a whetstone, seemingly unaware of Hope's presence, despite speaking to her.

She was breathtakingly beautiful in the way a cloudless night was, or the way shadows danced across the wall made from the fire, or the way wind whispered through the hanging vines of a willow. A dress made of raven feathers cascaded around her, fluttering in the soft wind. There was a sort of circlet on her brow that looked like a raven spreading its wings, a red gem in its beak.

"Why not?" Hope asked, her brow furrowed.

She lifted her head and her eyes were dark and so very old, not at all what Hope would expect from someone so young, but then she paused and really looked at the woman. There was something in the curve of her lips and the shape of her eyes that reminded her of someone she knew, but she couldn't quite place it in the moment…and she almost had an  _aura_  about her.

"Sorry," Hope said when she realized she was staring, "you just remind me of… _someone."_  She wasn't sure if there was quite a word to describe it. The cold grip on her wrist, pulling her back, the impossibly dark eyes she'd seen through the Veil.

"Yes, Thanatos does have that affect on people," the woman mused and Hope blinked, "particularly his children, at first glance."

" _Excuse me?"_  Hope managed to force out, the words faint and barely there. "What did you just say?  _Children?"_

"I use the word broadly," the woman shrugged, "descendant might suit you better? Terminology gets confusing after several millennia."

Thanatos, that name Hope knew very well. She'd always loved Greek Mythology and the Underworld, in particular, but it had interested her more after the accident when she was ten, when, for a brief moment, Hope had seen paradise. What Hope had seen of Death was  _beautiful._

"I'm related to the god of death?" Hope still couldn't get past that.

"One of us, anyway." Her lips twisted in dark amusement. "Perhaps one of the best  _known_ …after Anubis, but the darling jackal prefers to stick to the deserts of Egypt; can't fathom why, an acquired taste, I'm sure."

"I'm sorry, but  _what the fuck?"_  Hope couldn't hold it in anymore. "Who are you? Where am I? What's the deal with the path? What did you  _mean_  I was related to Thanatos?"

The woman blinked at Hope briefly. "That was an impressive number of questions, Lady Peverell."

Hope had never been called 'Lady Peverell' before, but she knew it was one of the titles she had claim to (oh to be the last of several families extinct upon the male line), though the only one she'd actually taken had been Lady Potter at fifteen, when she was legal to. Some days she'd consider the Slytherin one, if just to make people choke on their tongues, but never Peverell.

"My name is Morrigan," she said, standing, the knife in her hand shifting into a deadly sharp spear held easily in her hand and a raven cawed again before flying down to settle on her feather clad shoulder. "I have a lot of spheres of control, one might say…war, fertility, fate, revenge, magic, prophecy… _death_. But I am the most well-known as the Phantom Queen."

" _Ah,"_  Hope said intelligently, like that explained so much. Morrigan didn't sound very Greek but she figured it wasn't polite to ask.

"As for where you are…" Morrigan gave a careless wave of her spear and Hope ducked to avoid being gutted. "I believe the best answer is…you're dead."

Hope's heart dropped into her stomach. " _What?"_  she asked bleakly.

"Don't worry," Morrigan said in a way that didn't alleviate any of Hope's worry in the slightest, "it's not permanent…if you're  _lucky."_

Hope was really starting to hate her.

"We don't really have a word for it," Morrigan continued, reaching a hand up to stroke the raven on her shoulder, "but I think 'death trance' suits it the best. Thanatos pulled out your magic, your body went into shock to compensate for its loss, being dead is what's saving your life right now."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Hope shook her head in aggravation. "I've been dead before! It didn't look  _like this!"_  She gesticulated wildly.

The forest looked particularly oppressive.

"You started on a road that was plucked from your memory because you needed something familiar to get you on your feet," Morrigan explained patiently, "once you'd no longer found yourself quite so off-balance, it became a forest to show you how lost you truly are."

"Thanks for that."

Morrigan ignored her, which was probably for the best, tapping the end of her spear against the stone that started the little garden path through the forest. "The path," she said, "is a trick, like many things in life."

"That's not cryptic at all," Hope muttered.

"Time is fluid, the future is ever changing, nothing is carved in stone." Morrigan spoke calmly and simply and her smile softened her entire face as she took one of Hope's hands and then the other, bringing them together with her ice-cold hands but Hope didn't pull away. "Prophecies are fickle things, Hope, they are troublesome and impossible things that are made  _by_  mortals  _for_  mortals that wish to make them so."

"I don't understand," Hope hated how her voice shook.

"One day,  _you will,"_  Morrigan promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a significance in the loss of Hope's magical scars that will come up later. This is canon tweaked and its my playbox. Destroying the horcruxes are important, but there's going to be a lot going on in the Resistance, but I don't anticipate this being a LB-length fic (that would be terrifying).
> 
> A lot of characters are taking on new roles in this fic and another one should show up next chapter :)
> 
> Morrigan is cryptic but I don't have a lot with her planned; she's just doing Thanatos a favor at this point.
> 
> Raven!Hedwig will make a reappearance


	4. Twice-Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many questions to answer! Destroying the Horcruxes is still a thing in this fic, but Hope is not a Horcrux, and the connection between her and Voldie does have to do with what he did that night, but it didn't make her a Horcrux. Being without magic means that yes, she's susceptible to anti-Muggle charms.
> 
> The Death Trance is very interesting and hazy, but we'll see if Hope remembers any of it ;) Time passes a bit slower in the worlds between worlds. The bloody tree is very important, the garden path is something I like to write into fics because it's a fun analogy that I slightly stole from the Magicians, it has nothing to do with the one in Serpent Tongue.

He'd been wandering through a haze of trees, lost in the darkness. There was nothing but blackness and cold and Dean just wanted to be somewhere safe.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone there?"

He was alone in the quiet and he had no wand. He felt defenseless and out of sorts.

A raven cawed in the distance.

He tripped over a root in time to see the house, the outside lamp lit, keeping the darkness at bay, and relief poured out of his entire being; Dean was  _home._

"Mum!" The word cracked as it left his lips and in the back of his mind he knew why, but desperation kept him moving forward, running until he could throw open the door. " _Mum!"_

But this wasn't the inside of his house. There were squashy armchairs and tables, the walls were decorated with rich reds, with windows to allow moonlight to filter through. The large fireplace dominated one wall, adorned with the portrait of a lion.

It was the Gryffindor common room.

"Oh, sorry," came a young voice, "I thought- _well-_  I thought I was the only one up."

Dean blinked, coming more fully into the room to see Hope, a very young, very small Hope. Her hair was still in that choppy style she'd worn when she'd first come to Hogwarts, firelight glancing off the strand of beads tangled in her hair.

"No, sorry," a younger Dean said quickly, wearing checkered pajamas that were well-loved compared to Hope's ratty ones, "I just—"

"—don't sleep well," they ended as one, pausing to stare at each other.

Dean remembered that night. His nightmares had been particularly bad and he'd needed air, he'd needed to get out and away -the insane desire to transform into a raven had sprung to mind even though he'd known it was impossible- and he'd been surprised to find someone else awake.

"Dean," Dean offered her helpfully, "Dean Thomas."

Hope smiled lightly. "Hope."

(He didn't think he'd ever realized how little she preferred her last name when introducing herself, looking back it was obvious she was uncomfortable)

She practically sank into an armchair to avoid the awkwardness that hung in the air. Seamus had told Dean all about the story behind Hope Potter's infamy, as Dean, being Muggle-born, was unfamiliar with most things magical. She hissed under her breath, rubbing at her leg that had been in a brace the last time Dean saw her.

Hope lifted the hem of her pantleg to see a jagged scar across her leg that was red and puckered.

Dean must've made a sound because she said "Don't worry, it just looks like that when I walk too much."

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked curiously.

"Only when it's inflamed," Hope sighed. "Sometimes it twinges, but I think that's it just healing…I was on a lot of drugs when the doctor explained it."

She noticed his furrowed brow. "My cousin pushed me in front of a car when I was ten," she explained helpfully and Dean gaped at her.

"Your  _cousin_  pushed you in front of a  _car?"_  He couldn't help but he aghast by it.

"Well, we don't like each other very much," Hope offered without a care in the world, like that made it any better.

"How are you still  _alive?"_ Dean couldn't help but blurt.

A wide grin split across her face, warped by the shadows cast by the fire. "Dumb luck, probably." Her eyes seemed to darken to a black briefly before she sighed. "I should probably try to get some sleep, I suppose…pray to Hypnos for some decent dreams." She pulled herself upright, standing gingerly on the inflamed leg as she grabbed at her cane. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," Dean parroted back as she moved slowly past him only to grab his arm suddenly with an ice-cold hand.

That he didn't recall from his memory.

"Find the raven," Hope said in an ancient voice that wasn't her own, "follow it, and it will not lead you astray."

Dean tried to wrench his arm out of her grip, but it was impossible. "Who're you?" he demanded. "Why're you wearing my friend's face?"

Not-Hope's lips curled in a way that made her look so unlike the face she was wearing. "She was easy to hijack in your dreams. You two spent many sleepless nights together in this room, didn't you?"

Dean swallowed thickly. That was true. It was a well-known fact that Hope Potter slept terribly; it was a lesser-known fact that Dean slept about as well as she did. They'd once fallen asleep on each other's shoulders after boring themselves with their schoolwork and an assortment of books and games. Dean had been terrified that George would kill him, even though George was the milder to the Weasley Twins.

("Merlin, you look terrified," George laughed, " _relax,_  I know all about Hope having sleeping trouble. She told me you have the same problems."

"She did?" Dean nearly sagged in relief. He was expecting to be butchered for falling asleep sitting next to Hope, his head resting on top of hers. "Yeah, I mean, I do."

"I offered her a sleeping potion once," George informed him wryly, "she turned me down, said it was worse being stuck in her dreams…same thing for you?"

Dean thought about his most constant nightmare. "Yeah," he said weakly.

George smiled kindly and Dean could see why Hope loved him so much. "If it helps you guys actually get some sleep, then it's not an issue,  _besides_ , you're not really her type."

Dean was so startled that he laughed.)

"Children of death finding comfort in one another's presence," Not-Hope was incredibly amused, "I suppose there's some irony in that."

"What?" Dean didn't understand.

"You will." He blinked, not realizing he'd said that out loud. "Change is hard, messy, and confusing, your friend is still learning that, and maybe one day you will have to as well…" Her eyes softened and she raised a hand to rest it against his cheek. "You are too much like me, child."

His heart stuttered in his chest and the last thing he saw before he shot awake was the brief image of the twisting bloodied branches of the tree he feared so much.

" _Follow the raven,"_  came the whisper one last time, " _and call out her name."_

Dean opened his eyes and breathed in the chill morning air. It was cool but not cold and with how Dean had been camping out since the end of school, he knew enough to know that it would get a bit warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky.

A raven cawed at him after he zipped up his trousers and Dean paused and stared at it resting on a low hanging branch, eyeing him curiously, remembering the dream.

Then it took flight and he leapt after it with a loud " _Hey_! Wait for me!"

* * *

Ginny's brain was bursting with information, from what Ron had said last night - _Hope dead but maybe not dead_ \- to everything that was in the red journal. The sheer amount of faith that Hope had in her was staggering and Ginny couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.

She'd barely gotten any sleep last night, but she'd left the journal in her desk, tucked under various parchments to hide its existence before heading out to do her chores.

Bill and Fleur were staying at the Burrow until the wedding, but Ginny had caught the significant glances they'd shared when Mum had brought up the wedding plans, like they had doubts that there'd be an actual wedding. Not that they were getting cold feet, just that the  _environment_ …felt kind of like the calm before the storm.

(Ginny had heard Ron moving things around in his room late at night and she got the feeling that he was ready to leave at a moment's notice)

If Hope or Hermione were there, she knew that Mum would be keeping them and Ron as separated as possible -not that it would've mattered, she thought privately, the trio had hashed out pretty much everything of importance before they'd even boarded the train back to London- but wherever they were, Ron wasn't saying and with Number Four burned down, the Dursleys dead, and the Grangers' house vacant, there was no way to know for sure.

Moody had gone to George first, which wasn't surprising -Ginny was well aware of the ring he had tucked away in his bedside table-, they had been living together for almost a year, but Hope had cleared her stuff from the flat long before they came knocking and George hadn't been impressed.

It was harder than Ginny thought it would be with the twins not living with them when things were the way they were and Ron and Ginny were dealing with Mum full-time.

Things had never always been great with Mum for a lot of reasons. Mum had dug her heels in about Ginny not needing a Mind Healer after the issues with Tom to the point where Hope just took her by the arm and informed her flatly "We're going to go flying somewhere far from the castle, with food, and we're going to get everything you need off your chest" which had helped, and Hope had admitted she'd gone to a therapist after her accident which had helped, so it was nice to know that Ginny's problems weren't singular. And then there was the whole issue about how Mum constantly compared her children to one another, which Ginny wasn't a fan of.

Mum liked to think she knew best, which sometimes she did, but not on this. And Ginny and Ron were joining the fight whether she wanted it or not.

"You have a plan, don't you?" Ginny asked Ron quietly while they were feeding the chickens. "You  _always_ have a plan." The strategies listed in the Red Journal just oozed Ron; strategy, after all, was his forte.

"A half-baked one," Ron muttered back. "You know about Pithos, right?"

The map to the castle that belonged to the Slytherin family had been sketched with a careful hand into the journal that Ginny knew it had to have been Dean's (she kind of wanted to know what his reaction to the request had been, because given how Hope and Dean sometimes were, she could see him just sighing and doing the sketch with no questions asked).

"Yeah." And she knew about their plans to use it as a base of operations. She opted to not say that out loud.

"Hermione and I…aren't really sure we can get into it without Hope," Ron said cautiously, bending down to reach into the chicken coop for eggs to place gently into the basket in Ginny's hands. "We had a long chat with Salazar Slytherin's portrait and he was evasive at best, and he only really listens to Hope, which is  _annoying_ …there is one thing we were interested in doing, though, that you might want to get in on."

"Anything to get me out of the house," Ginny groaned.

"We've already cleared Grimmauld Place of anything that might be useful but we might end up using it as a safe house of sorts," Ron admitted, "and since Hope's… _missing_ —" Ginny didn't like how he choked over the word. "—and everything else is taken care of, we're kind of twiddling our thumbs until—"

Ginny didn't want to think about if Hope didn't come back. She was the core to everything Ron and Hermione were and Ginny got the feeling that without her, they were floundering.

"Yeah, no, that'll keep me busy and out of the house, I'll take it," Ginny said automatically and Ron actually laughed as he tucked the last few eggs into the basket. "I should've just grabbed George and stayed with him, he's down a flatmate."

Ron snorted. "They slept in the same bed, though." Getting used to that one had been hard, but Hope and George had been together for so long he hardly noticed now.

"You got me there," Ginny burst into giggles. "When are we heading out for cleaning duty?"

"Depends if you want to eat at home or at some Muggle place." Ron shrugged. He was flexible either way, but things had been a bit strained lately.

"Definitely at some Muggle place," Ginny was quick to agree. Mum was a great cook, there was no denying that, but she'd once spent the afternoon at George and Hope's when they'd gotten 'Chinese food' and, by Merlin, was it  _amazing._

They trooped back to the house and Ginny raced up the stairs to her room to grab a band to tie her hair back only to stop and stare, outrage spilling through her veins. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

Ron, in the kitchen, had rather thought they were overdue for a row. Ginny and Mum were like oil and water, they didn't mix well together.

"YOU CAN'T JUST GO THROUGH MY STUFF!"

"While you're under my roof,  _I can!"_

"Oh,  _shit,"_  Ron muttered as the voices grew and expanded over one another. Maybe he should just put himself out of the line of fire for this one—"

" _Don't touch that! Hope gave me that!"_

Then he remembered the journal detailing the Resistance's plans and Ron had to swear under his breath for a moment before he realized that Hermione had layered so many spells on that journal that you could feel a tingle of the magic on your skin if you pressed down on the cover. And she'd cursed it especially if someone other than Ginny or Hope, Hermione, or Ron tried to touch it, and reading it was impossible to someone outside their group.

There was a loud yelp of pain that told Ron Mum had held onto the journal for too long and he took the stairs two at a time.

"Hope has given you far too many questionable things!" Mum shouted back, clutching at her still-smoking hand, and if Ron knew anything about Hope and Hermione's curses, they cut deep. "You think I didn't find that book on blood magick she left you?"

Ginny let loose a shriek of rage and Ron had to lunge forward to grab his sister and hoist her back. He hadn't even known that Hope had gotten Ginny that book until it had come up when they were making plans. Hope had always been fairly open about her less than legal magic use and when she'd first started carving the runes into her arms, she'd gotten a few detentions for it, but it wasn't like the teachers could stop her from cutting them into her skin.

"My body may be a temple, but I am the god to whom it is devoted to, so don't presume to tell me how to decorate my altar," she'd once said flatly to Snape.

("Who'm I kidding?" she'd muttered later, "this body can't be a temple with how much shit it's had to deal with.")

" _You've been snooping around in my room?!"_  Ginny was on the edge of an apoplectic fit. "Where's that book! I thought I lost it, but you took it, didn't you?"

"There will be no dark magic in my house!" Mum's face was blooming a blustering red.

Ron did the only sensible thing. " _Accio book on blood magick!"_

" _Ron!"_

There was a loud crashing sound and the book smacked against walls before landing neatly in Ron's hand and he held it out to Ginny, who took it quickly. He didn't say a word, bending down to pick up the journal where it had fallen to the ground, holding it lightly between his fingers.

"This," he said with great restraint, "was a long, sleepless night, and the combined effort of myself, Hope, and Hermione. It's for Ginny's eyes only and it's got a rather nasty curse on it, Mum, so don't try reading it again."

"And Hope thought it was smart to give a cursed journal to a child who has a bad history with cursed journals?" Mum put her hands on her hips, incredibly displeased.

Ron thought it was a bit rich of her to bring that issue up now when she hadn't even wanted Ginny to see a Mind Healer after everything that went down in the Chamber (something that Hope and Hermione had rather clearly disapproved of, not that Ron had ever told Mum that).

"This journal was made for Ginny," Ron said flatly, "it's not cursed against  _her_ , its cursed against anyone other than its owner that tries to look inside…it's the  _Last Hope Option."_  Sort of a play on words that had made Hope cackle when she'd heard it, since it really was, if she was indisposed.

"Anything that needs to be cursed that much isn't safe," Mum insisted, "hand it over, Ron."

And Ron handed it over—to Ginny, gently removing his fiery sister from the line of fire and pointing her down to the kitchen, which, thankfully, she took to mean she should wait downstairs for him she they could leave; she stormed down the stairs with the books tightly pressed to her chest.

"No," he told her, reminding himself of Hope when she had been so supremely pissed at Mum for the things she'd said to Sirius in Grimmauld Place so long ago. "That journal is Ginny's. It was made for her and you don't get to take her stuff and root through her stuff when she's not there to stop you."

"I am her  _mother!"_  Her face was positively stormy. "I am  _your_ mother! And I will not have those books in my house!"

There were a lot of things Ron would've liked to say in that moment. ( _That didn't stop you from taking over Sirius' house and putting expectations on it. Don't worry, we won't be staying long. We have other friends who would have no problem with use staying with them instead of here. It's no wonder Bill and Charlie left when they could.)_

They were all cold and cruel. True, but sharp and painful.

His mother had such unrealistic expectations of her children, which was something he'd only realized recently. It hurt to realize that sometimes you'd rather stay at school than go back home to a mother that only really appreciated you when you did well in school.

There was a reason, he knew, that all his brothers had moved out of the house as soon as possible. Even Bill wasn't pleased about being coerced into living in the Burrow again when he and Fleur had their own apartment. Of course, neither he nor Fleur had been really psyched about having their wedding at the Burrow instead of in France.

("Why don't we just wait?" Ron had heard Fleur suggest quietly to Bill one night.

Bill had been surprised. "You want to wait? Until after the war?" Even when there was no telling if they would survive it.

"We don't need a wedding to prove we love one anozzer," Fleur had scowled, "if we can't 'ave ze wedding we want, zen we shouldn't 'ave one at all!")

There were good protections around the Burrow, Ron couldn't deny that, but he could still remember how much Hope raved about warding. Dumbledore was the one that had crafted them in the first place and it was common practice -perhaps not quite recommended anymore- to power wardings with the spirit of the caster, which meant that if they died, the wards would fade with them. They still had wards, but they were nowhere near as strong as they had been before; they would break with ease.

Hope had made four-corner warding stones before -given to Petunia for after Hope had moved out of Number Four, but clearly they'd only offered a mild protection-, Ron had seen her do it, and he could've asked her if she could make some for the Burrow, but Ron was busy with his plans and he was ready to pack up his life at a moment's notice.

"Hope told her she didn't  _have_  to keep the book," he told his mother finally, "and she didn't  _have_  to carve blood runes into her skin…it's a very short drop from well-meaning to authoritarian. Rooting through Ginny's things doesn't make you a good mother, it makes you untrusting and untrustworthy."

Mum's face purpled and even Ron was impressed with his own daring. Hermione and Hope had fortified him over the years.

Then he turned on his heel and headed down the steps to see Ginny standing furiously at the door. "Ready to go?"

A muscle jumped in Ginny's jaw as she gave a tight nod. " _Before_  I kill her."

Ron's smile was thin as they walked towards the Apparition point, offering his sister his arm before twisting with a loud crack.

* * *

"Slow down!" Dean was tripping over roots in his haste to follow the raven. "I can't move that fast!"

The raven, unsurprisingly, didn't slow down, and Dean muffled a complaint until it led him right off a cliff.

"Motherf—" he just had the chance to swear before he went tumbling over the cliffside with a loud yelp of pain. He didn't have far to fall, but down he went, head over ass, rocks jabbing him and twigs catching against him until Dean flopped down onto his side in the wet sand.

For a moment he just lay there, bruises forming under his skin, his body aching from the fall, listening to the sound of waves crashing against rocks and sloshing against sand. He could lay there, he thought, lay there and just  _be._

A sharp  _caw_  interrupted that thought and Dean blinked at the raven landed beside him before narrowing his eyes. Weren't ravens supposed to be tricksters? Like foxes?

"You meant for me to fall off that cliff, didn't you?" He grumbled and the raven let loose an irritated caw, which Dean took to mean that it was his own fault for falling off the cliff,  _stupid human._ "You're not taking me somewhere that I'll get killed, are you?"

The irritated caw returned in full force and Dean could swear that the raven was glowering at him.

"All right," he groaned, "I'm getting up." He rolled over and sat up, looking around him. The sea -the Irish Sea, he was sure, based on where Dean had been camping in Pembrokeshire- lapped up onto the sandy shoreline and at craggy rocks at the edge of the shore in the distance. Dean's eyes followed the rocks up to a cliff-face more treacherous than the one he'd fallen down.

Even so, there didn't appear to be anything atop it, or anything for miles.

"Again, I ask," Dean had to admit it was rather ludicrous to be asking such things like he was expecting an answer from the raven, "where are we going?"

The raven cawed insistently, flapping its wings.

Dean wished he knew a spell to allow him to speak to animals as he finally stumbled into a standing position. No…he narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't  _right…_

The clouds were dark and foreboding as they blocked out the sun. There was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. Dean tried to swallow his unease, but it remained.

The raven fluttered in the air, not flying too far before landing on sand before the jutting rocks, looking at Dean expectantly.

Dean wondered if this was going to end well for him as he trudged after the raven to stare at the rocky wall, then back at the raven, who gave no helpful hints.

"I know you've got something planned," Dean said shrewdly, crossing his arms and Hope laughed lightly, the sound echoing in the darkness and the silence. She looked tired, but she wasn't sleeping, so Dean could guess her nightmares were back in full force.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," she said with a wink, her finger against her lips. "My secrets have secrets…find the truth hidden in the cracks."

"Ooh-kay, cryptic much?" Dean had countered and she'd laughed even more.

Now Dean looked at the craggy rock. Find the truth hidden in the cracks…maybe that was the hint. She'd liked riddles a lot when she was younger, he remembered that. There'd been that suit of armor that could talk -the only one, if Dean's memory served, and after second year, Dean hadn't ever seen it again- that would always toss riddles her direction, but it had been years since he'd seen her deal with riddles.

His fingers probed through the jutting crack in the rock, feeling around and feeling like an  _idiot,_  but then his fingers brushed against something smooth, something that shouldn't have been there…something that felt like a latch. He gave a sharp tug and had to jump at a sudden cracking sound.

The raven cawed once more, fluttering up to perch on his shoulder as part of the cliff-side shifted as if opening a door and he glanced to the raven, who offered nothing helpful, before sighing and pulling out his wand, lighting it with a mutter of "Today's already so goddamn weird, this might as well happen."

Dean climbed inside, holding his wand aloft, his eyes on the ground so that he wouldn't trip, moving carefully until he reached the end, but there was no door, the tunnel just… _stopped._

He glared at the raven. "It's a dead end."

Then the raven did something that surprised Dean; it opened its beak and instead of its typical  _caw_  came a strangled hiss that had Dean jolting enough to almost dislodge it from his shoulder.

Ravens, he remembered belatedly, could mimic other sounds.

The stone at his left shuddered and melted away at the word, revealing another passageway.

"Oh, that's typical," he grumbled under his breath before walking until his feet met a spiraling staircase that had many steps and ended with a wheel on the ceiling where a short ladder went up to. It was a sort of metal wheel, similar to the kinds of ones you'd see on Muggle bank vaults. Dean spun the wheel before pushing it open and pulling himself up into a spacious room and Dean couldn't help but gaze around in wonder.

There was something about the place that was so much greater than Hogwarts ever could have been. Beautiful Greek pillars held the ceiling up and several staircases spun around from the main level and far, far upwards. Light and shadow filtered in through the windows, both stained glass and not, casting dancing colors across the floor and walls.

" _Wow."_  Dean took a moment to stare in awe before the raven let out a distressed  _caw_ and flew off again. "Dammit," Dean muttered as he chased after it. " _Where are you going?!"_

The raven took him in the opposite direction, winding around pillars and past books piled where they'd probably been left some centuries ago, judging by the spiderwebs. Then it stopped, flapping its wings and hovering in the air before a double glass-paned door.

Dean caught his breath before opening the door and stepping outside once more.

The air was colder now and Dean was surrounded by gravestones.

He took in a sharp breath. There weren't actually that many gravestones around, just six, unevenly spaced around patches of earth. One gravestone didn't even have a name on it, and three had names he didn't recognize, but one was rather plain to see.

_Salazar Slytherin._

There had been that rumor that Hope was a descendant of Salazar Slytherin back in second year and she'd always been rather open about her relation to the Hogwarts founder. If this was his ancestral home, then…

Wings fluttered through the air as the raven glided through the air to land mournfully on the last tombstone, too far away for Dean to read where he stood.

 _Hope Peverell,_  it read.  _The Twice-Dead._

But that couldn't be Hope, could it? Dean's tongue was swollen in his mouth and fear settled in his stomach like iron.

" _See ya on the flip-side, Dean!"_  she'd waved goodbye to him before heading off with Hermione, away from the station. That was the last time Dean had seen his school friend.

But this was a family plot, Hope's family, Hope's  _ancient_ family, and Dean had never heard of the name Peverell before, certainly not from Hope herself.

" _Hope?"_  he hardly dared to breathe.

And, as if summoned, a hand burst through the grave-soil, reaching up towards the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had the image of Hope digging herself out of a shallow grave for a couple months so I'm glad we finally made it to the moment. Dean and Hope's friendship is something I'm looking forward to really fleshing out, particularly Dean's side, since he's been pretty much a side character in the main story.
> 
> The Last Hope Option is both a pun and a reference, a book on battle magic in the Magicians :) and Dean's quoted John Mulaney about how weird his life is XD
> 
> As always, this fic is not off hiatus, I am working on it whenever I so choose, but I've got 42 days until graduation.


	5. Sciomancer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A clarification: Dean is not a necromancer, but that would honestly be so cool :)

"You are playing a dangerous game."

Morrigan hadn't seen Thanatos quite so furious in ages, not since…well, not since Peleus Blackwood. Peleus had been an intriguing fellow and his sword still wept blood when it was cleaned, even centuries since his death. It was hard to walk the line between consuming and being consumed and he'd lost that battle almost as soon as it had begun. Morrigan didn't offer many deals, not as many as her brethren, but Peleus had made her reconsider…as was Hope.

That one had a warrior's spirit under all that pain and tragedy. Her suffering wasn't yet done, Morrigan could see that, but perhaps one day she'd get the ending she deserved; happy and maybe not quite peaceful, but full of warmth and love.

"I have no idea what you mean," she said mildly, reaching up a hand to pet her raven lightly. It was nearly identical to the one that had appeared to guide Hope on her way through. Interesting…several years ago and her animal guide would've taken the form of a panther; Morrigan thought the raven suited her better. "You're the one that condemned her."

Thanatos ground his teeth together and at his hip she could see the stoppered bottle hanging, a fluttering and pulsing bright essence within. "I don't break ancient rules," he said, "even for family."

The bottle would break and the essence would return, as would the agony and the sensation of being ripped apart. Peleus had inherited the same problem and his only solution had been to make a deal with a god who would destroy his magic rather than tucking it away.

The Peverell line had always been proof that magic and godly might should never coexist yet had found a way to do so.

"There is nothing against courting a mortal for a deal," Morrigan replied.

"There is if you create the problem and then offer the solution."

"Interesting theory." Her eyes gleamed darkly. "Though, I think you'll find that you're the one that created this problem."

Thanatos almost growled.

"Oh, don't be such a downer," Morrigan scoffed, "her experience in the Otherworld was no different than her predecessors, she's Awakened, just like they did. The Seventh Sciomancer of the Peverell Line…it'll take her awhile to remember what happened and even longer to understand, but it's for the best, it always has been."

He glared and Morrigan tried not to sigh.

"I know you worry," she said simply, "and you have a right to…but she's nearly grown now and learned to walk through this world without a hand to steady her, she never needed you or your help. You had your chance and you didn't stay. Hope Peverell, Twice-Dead Weaver-of-Shadows, will lead a revolution, and she'll reap the benefits and consequences of her actions without you,  _as she always has._  The truth hurts, but it can't be twisted, even you know that. You can pick up the pieces but don't try to force them into holes they can no longer fit into because you feel guilty of your inaction in your daughter's life."

Calling her daughter to his face must've stung as much as it looked and Thanatos looked away quickly. He hadn't been a father in a very long time, but even many generations removed, she could see his love for the girl.

Morrigan patted his cheek kindly. "Visit your brother, Thanatos, rest a little, I suspect very soon there will be many souls to reap."

Neither could deny that eventuality any longer.

* * *

She forced herself through the surface of the earth, coughing and hacking up grave dirt. Her lungs were burning and she retched, bowing her body over, at the very least grateful to have air to breathe once more.

"Where am I?" she rasped out in her mother tongue, the fluidity of it rolling off with ease.

"Um," came a voice and she leaned back to raise her head. There was a boy, a young man, a wand in his hand and wearing unfamiliar dress. "I have no idea what you just said."

She stared at him blankly for the longest time. She should know him…shouldn't she?

"Do you remember me?" he asked cautiously, a furrow on his brow, worry clear to see. "I'm Dean Thomas…Hope, we went to school together."

It hit her like a spear through the head and she clutched painfully at it, the headache so fierce that she almost blacked out.

Hope, yes, that was her name. She'd forgotten… _but how could she have forgotten?_

Hope blinked once, then twice. "Dean," she said the name with ease from memory, it all coming back to her, "am I…am I really alive?"

The concern vanished in an instant and Dean knelt quickly to wrap his arms around her. "Don't be stupid, of course you are," he muttered, holding onto her tight.

Hope's eyes stung and she managed smile, hooking her chin on his shoulder. "That's a relief," she managed throatily. Her voice was harsh and croaky, almost damaged, like being dead had changed it, but Hope couldn't be completely certain; she'd never been dead before -for an extended period of time, when she was ten it had been little more than a minute- so it wasn't as though she could compare it.

She felt weighed down, like her body was made of lead, and then the exhaustion settled in. "I'm so… _tired."_

And then she was out and Dean was holding her muttering "You have  _got_  to be kidding me."

* * *

Ginny was still positively steamed when they found themselves sitting in a mostly empty café, waiting to be served some much-needed eggs and bacon. "That was  _totally_  out of line!"

"Totally," Ron agreed without too much inflection and Ginny turned her eyes on him with a glare. He held up his hands in surrender. "Getting emotional with Mum never works out well for anyone involved, staying calm s'really all I've got."

Ginny scoffed before thanking the waitress that placed their food in front of them and jabbing her fork into a sausage. But honestly, he had pretty much hit the nail on the head with that one. Mum could scream louder and longer than Ginny ever could that it was such a waste to even bother with fighting her. Just several months ago, she'd found out about Ginny dating Seamus Finnigan and had tried to tell her that she was too young to be dating, which was incredibly ironic since Hope had started dating George when she was thirteen and he was fifteen and Fred and Angelina had been dating at thirteen (not that they'd really outright told anyone; those two really enjoyed their relationship not being on display), but  _sure_ , Ginny was, at  _fifteen_ , too young to date her  _sixteen_  year old boyfriend.

Mum hadn't enjoyed her pointing that out, but it didn't make it any less true.

"So, Grimmauld Place," she decided to switch topics abruptly, but Ron didn't really comment on it. "We're cleaning it out so it can be used as a safe house?"

Ron swallowed some water. "Not quite." He'd already cast the spells to shield them and muffle their words, should anyone be listening in.

That made Ginny furrow her brow. "But didn't you just say—"

"Yeah, I lied." Ron's lips curved. "We're still clearing it out of anything else important that we missed on our first sweep…but then we're tricking it up with so many traps that anyone'll think twice about trying to get in after the first attempt."

" _Ooh!"_  Ginny liked that idea a lot better. "Sounds like fun!"

"Fred and George have been cooking up a lot of new stuff—"

"Lethal?" Ginny couldn't help but ask.

"On request." Ron couldn't help but allow the amused smile across his lips. He'd seen the look on Fred's face when Hope had handed him the folded-up parchment with their ideas on it; he'd looked positively demonic and had promised to get started on it right away.

"Nice." Ginny swallowed a bit more of her eggs before pulling out the red journal of Hope's, the  _Last Hope Option_ …the pun hadn't escaped Ginny. "Okay, there's a section in here that's got me a little confused…"

"Which one?" Ron, after all, had played a large part in drafting the contents with Hope and Hermione and was quite familiar with everything within in.

"The one on camouflaging…" Ginny frowned for good measure. "Why is it important to use non-magical things for that? Wouldn't it be easier to just charm our appearances?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but they're no good if they fail when a Death Eater does a counter-charm, aren't they?"

"Ooh, yeah, good point." Ginny chewed on her sausage some more. They really had thought of everything…the journal had a crazy amount of detail to the plans listed inside it. "Wait…should we changing our hair color, then?"

"Not yet, but Hope gave me some stuff," Ron shrugged helpfully.

 _Of course_ , she did. Hope didn't have the same problem they did; she could change her appearance with ease…but that might not've been the case anymore. With the whole dead-not-dead-maybe-magicless situation, Ginny wasn't really sure what was up or down.

"What color is it?" she couldn't help but ask curiously.

"Black," Ron supplied, "we agreed that the red's too distinctive, especially if we're traveling with Hope. Death Eaters would spot us in two seconds flat."

Black wasn't too bad, she supposed, she could pull off black, besides, it wouldn't have to be permanent, just until the end of the war. Then she'd be able to return her hair to the ginger that she loved so much.

It was optimistic, she knew. They could die in this war, but Ginny wanted to believe that she and her family would come out of it intact.

She could always hope.

"Wouldn't it be safer to just dye our hair now, then?" she prompted. "And then just have a glamour up when we're at home?"

Ron paused. "You know, that's not a bad idea."

Ginny snorted before flipping to another page. This one had initial plans but there were a lot of scribbles across it. "What's the deal with this page?"

"Oh, that." Ron took a long drink of water. "At first we were going to have two pretty separate factions. We'd be in charge of the one in Pithos, and you, Neville, and Luna would head the one at Hogwarts."

That sounded smart, but Ginny had long since decided to abandon her education in the face of a war, not that she'd told Mum, like Ron had.

"What made you change your mind about it?"

Ron shrugged. "It's likely that it's not going to be very safe for allies at Hogwarts, so we switched gears." That was a phrase Hermione had used, though Ron didn't quite understand it.

There was another set of pages on what basically amounted to an underground school, which Ginny understood, after all, Tom didn't like Muggle-borns very much; he'd go after them first.

"Who told you how Hogwarts knows where students are living to send them letters?" That had Ginny curious. He first thought was—

"Flitwick," Ron said around a swallow of eggs.

That was  _not_  the answer she was expecting. "Wow, I thought it would be McGonagall," Ginny admitted.

"We debated," Ron agreed. "But Flitwick's less obvious, and less…questioning."

Ginny arched an eyebrow at that. "The Head of Ravenclaw House…not being inquisitive?"

"Oh, no, he  _definitely_  was," Ron countered, "but we're pretty sure that he sussed out what our plans were. We knew we weren't going to be very lucky with McGonagall -she already tried to get info out of Hope before- all the professors care about the students, yeah, but we don't need a grapevine, when nothing's been solidified yet."

Ginny could half understand that and half not, but she wasn't the strategist.

"Don't freak out until you have to is Hope's philosophy," Ron offered wisely and Ginny rolled her eyes for good measure.

But she'd keep it in mind.

* * *

They were screwed, and by  _they,_ Hermione meant herself. She'd spotted the Death Eaters lingering out on the street that led up to the apartment complex. She'd almost missed them, and Hope definitely would've caught them first, but her friend had drilled a healthy dose of paranoia into her.

That made staying in the apartment completely out of the question.

"Be smart, be smart," Hermione muttered, pacing. "What would Hope do?"

_What would Hope do?_

Hermione started packing everything up -manually, in case they were monitoring magic use-, all their clothes, all their papers, everything that they'd brought into the apartment. Better to leave no hint that they'd even been there.

She took her brush to her hair aggressively, using it to pull her hair up into a bun at the top of her head. All the pictures of her since she'd entered the magical world were her with her hair down and Hermione was in a hurry so she didn't have a lot of time to change her appearance. She put on a pair of blocky, oversized fake spectacles and slipped her wand up her sleeve.

What would Hope say?

"Be smart." Hermione could practically hear Hope's voice in her head. "What's the difference between a live hero and a dumb moron?"

"One dumb decision," Hermione murmured to herself. Hope had never considered herself much of a hero and neither did Hermione.

"The point still stands." Hermione looked up to see Hope, like a reflection of her best friend in her head. "You want to stay alive? Be smart and cautious. You want to end up dead? Make mistakes."

Well, Hermione couldn't argue with that logic.

Be smart…be  _cautious_ … Hermione didn't think she had much of a style when it came to her clothes, though she did tend to stick to earth tones, but Hope's style, on the other hand, was a bit eclectic…and no one would look twice at a girl with brown hair and spectacles wearing a Weird Sisters t-shirt with a leather jacket, because she didn't look like Hermione Granger, nor Hope Potter.

She could be anyone walking out the door, anyone at all.

"Wait," said Hope as Hermione paused at the door. "What are you forgetting?"

That struck Hermione for a moment. What was she forgetting? She was forgetting something?

"Are you planning on going off half-cocked?" Hope arched an eyebrow and Hermione almost smacked her hand against her forehead.

That was a good point…where would she  _go?_  Her family's home was empty now that her parents had decided to abruptly move to practice in place a bit less stressful than London, like the newlyweds they thought they were, wanting a nice place to settle down and raise a child. Even thinking about that hurt Hermione more than she could ever convey. It wasn't the same for Hope, whose parents had been dead and whose family had always hated magic, or even for Ron who'd grown up in a fully magical family.

Hermione's parents had never really completely accepted Hermione being a witch…maybe this time they wouldn't have that problem.

It was hard for Hermione to tell if she was more melancholic or bitter about the whole situation. She wished there was a way to reverse the memory charm, but she knew there wasn't; Lockhart had been proof of that. Maybe one day she'd find a way to, but not now. Unfortunately, Hermione was a bit more concerned with staying alive and defeating Voldemort in this war.

But after… _after_ , there would be time to focus on coming up with a way to return their memories…

But how long would that take? The voice in her head wondered. The First Wizarding War had lasted for eleven years and with casualties that had numbered into the thousands. Was the Second going to be the same?

Hermione shook her head. She couldn't think of that…she had to think about  _where to go._

Not the Burrow, that was for sure. They'd had a plan even before the whole issue with Hope's death-not-death, and that had been not to head for the Burrow until Hope's birthday…but the only reason they'd planned to go to the Burrow was because of the wedding and that was becoming less and less likely as time wore on. And even if she went, it would be even harder to leave with how relentless Mrs. Weasley was…no…safer to just head for Pithos, even if she wasn't sure if she could get in or exactly where it was in that forest.

That was where Hope disappeared from and maybe it would be to where she returned to.

It was flimsy at best and she knew it, but it was better than nothing.

"Good," the Hope in her head said. "But what else?"

 _What else?_  Hermione paused. "Transportation," she said out loud.

Hope grinned and snapped her fingers. "Bingo!"

 _The train!_  That would be the simplest solution…but there weren't any computers to look up the schedule in the apartment. However, there was a small café down the street with computer access…she could take the train out of the city, at least, before pulling out Hope's broom or her motorbike, if she was feeling particularly daring, that was; Hermione had never driven Hope's motorbike before and if she crashed it, Hope was definitely going to kill her. She would rise from the dead just for that.

She hoisted her bag up over her shoulder and slammed the door shut behind her, pushing the bulky glasses higher on her nose and straightening Hope's leather jacket.

Hermione could do this, she knew she could. So, she left through the elevator without a glance back.

* * *

Hope awoke slowly and silently, her body feeling weighed down and for a terrifying moment Hope thought she was back in the ground again, choking on gravedirt, and that jolted her upright, trying to clear her throat, even if there was nothing there to cough up.

A plaintive caw made her pause and look to her side, where the raven was perched on the back of the couch she'd been laying across, a heavy blanket thrown over her lap. Never before had a raven looked so concerned.

Hope raised a hand and the raven brushed against her slightly, almost in a cat-like manner. "Hedwig," she remembered like coming out of a dream…she'd seen her flying through that place as a raven and had known instantly it was her. She couldn't explain it, nor did she understand how a snowy owl had become a raven.

Soul guides could change their shape to reflect the soul of their mortal companion. Hope didn't know how she knew that, but she did know that it was true,  _without a doubt._

"I'm all right," she told Hedwig.

Hedwig cawed in doubt.

"Don't be like that," Hope scolded, her voice catching, her throat raw, and she hacked on another cough.

Hedwig crooned.

"I'm fine," Hope tried to assure her, but her voice came out too scratchy for Hedwig to believe her, so Hope turned her attention around herself. She had no idea where she was, but it was certainly grand, on a scale that she'd never seen outside of Hogwarts.

Was this…was this the inside of Pithos?

"Oh…wow," Hope couldn't help but breathe in awe, standing and tilting her head back and spinning slowly to take it all in. It was… _beautiful_ , almost in an indescribable way, with great pillars and a high-reaching ceiling and beautifully carved stone.

Before she knew it, her feet were walking. She felt cold, but she didn't mind it, it was a cold that had settled in her bones when she was ten and had never left; she was familiar with its presence now.

Pronged feet settled on Hope's shoulder, where Hedwig had decided to perch, which Hope didn't mind, turning her attention towards what she could see to be the library and oh my gods was Hermione going to lose it when she saw it.

Hope snapped her fingers and muttered a spell to cast light from her palm but nothing happened.

"Ah, fuck," she hissed to herself, looking down at her bare arms. She'd forgotten about that too, and it annoyed her even more.

No magic…that was much more of a downer now that she was back in the material plane. Wand magic had never been much of a necessity for Hope -she could get by without it- but losing her blood runes…now, that one actually  _hurt._

It was like walking around as an exposed wire. Hope didn't like it.

Luckily, there was a rusted sword on the wall, which Hope would take over wandering around in Pithos in eerie silence. The chances that there was anyone actually in the castle was rather low, but Hope would prefer to be prepared, just in case.

Shadows flickered across the shelves upon shelves of books, cast through the windows from the parting stormclouds outside.

There was a loud crack and Hope shrieked -against her better judgement-, only to be exasperated with herself when she realized it was just a book falling onto the floor.

"In the name of Hades," she grumbled under her breath before sitting down on the ground, setting the heavy sword down beside her, to pull the book into her lap. She blew the dust off the cover. There wasn't a title, just a carving of a butterfly over an inverted torch, symbols of Thanatos.

Interest piqued, Hope opened it.

On the first page were three lists: Absorption, Necromancy, and Umbrakinesis. The first two were far shorter, but the third had seven names in total, the last of which was Hope Peverell, in Hope's own writing. _Peverell_ …Hope had heard that name before, several times. The line she shared with Tom, the names on all those gravestones in that dream of hers…the name that woman had called her in that other place…Morrigan.

Hope shook off that thought, flipping to the next page.

**Achilles Blackwood**

_Gift: Absorption -First_

_Inactive/ Deceased_

They were all like that, all the names listed:

**Iolanthe Peverell**

_Gift: Umbrakinesis -First_

_Inactive/ Deceased_

**Henry Potter**

_Gift: Necromancy -Fourth_

_Inactive/ Deceased_

Every single one, except for two:

**Peleus Blackwood**

_Gift: Umbrakinesis -Fourth_

_Inactive/ Unknown_

**Hope Peverell**

_Gift: Umbrakinesis -Seventh_

_Active/ Alive_

Peleus Blackwood…Hope remembered that name from the gravestone and a singing voice  _"Beware the Blackwood, Little Hope, it will eat you whole_ _̴"_

The whole experience in that… _other place_  left Hope feeling she'd gotten blackout drunk, only remembering flashes at a time. It was aggravating.

She flipped to another page.

_The line between mythic might and magic is very fine, and in some cases, completely non-existent. The most basic explanation is that a godling is considered by most to be a Warlock, though they tend to gain their abilities through a deal or pact. In the case of a godling, they are not born with them but may awaken them at a later point in life, often triggered by trauma or pain. Warlocks who have not formally entered into a pact with a god or primordial entity, such as being a godling, may seek patronage outside the god from whom they are descended, though such pacts are rare and only formed out of necessity._

_Should a descendant be rendered inactive, such as from death or removing oneself from the material plane or even discorporation, the gift they inherited will be passed to someone new. Though rare, it is possible for two godlings within the same family to bear the same gift if one was previously inactive becomes active once more._

_Being a Warlock has always been, in part, about accruing power, power over yourself, the elements, power over the future, the very world that exists around you. A Warlock of Thanatos has the ability to recall the dead to life, to drain the life from others at a single touch, or power over darkness that Thanatos so fondly cloaks himself in. However, power doesn't come cheaply, and delving too deep without a lifeline is extremely dangerous and can lead you to drown. If you lose control, your power will turn against you, it will kill you, it will consume you, or change you into something else._

_Be warned._

_Yikes_ …that sounded thrilling. But Hope could never resist tipping the scales a little, teetering on the edge of Dark and Light, stepping into puddles of grey wherever she went. Besides, they were at war; the Order was playing themselves if they thought they'd be able to remain firmly entrenched in the Light. Maybe if they hadn't been so set in their ways, Hope's parents wouldn't have had to die.

She flipped until she found the page she was looking for.

_Umbrakinesis_

_Umbrakinesis is the ability to manipulate shadows and darkness, a practitioner of which is sometimes called a Sciomancer, though the meaning of the term has changed over the centuries. The user can create, shape, and manipulate shadows in a variety of ways. Their shadow can exist separate from themselves, doing their bidding; they always have clear vision even in solid darkness; they can camouflage into shadow; they can solidify darkness into the sharpest of weapons; and they might even be able to create a portal out of shadow, though it takes a high level of skill to do so._

Umbrakinesis, huh? Hope cupped her chin thoughtfully. Now  _that_  was interesting.  _That_  had  _promise._

Behind her, unnoticed, her shadow began to twist all on its own.

* * *

Hermione was having a rough day, she couldn't deny that. She didn't know how the Death Eaters had even known to hang out outside the apartment complex, like they'd known that they were hiding out there. It couldn't have been Hope, though, Hermione had been without her for the better part of a day, and it was impossible to use the Trace as a way to track an underage witch when they hadn't performed magic.

It was something else, it had to be, something that made them trackable…Hermione had passed the first checkpoint, making it past the Death Eaters on the street outside in order to find the train schedule and then hopping on the first train out of the city.

Unfortunately, it had been going in the opposite direction that Hermione had been looking to go, so she had to hop a few trains to get to being even remotely in the right direction.

But then she'd seen them.

She'd recognized Dolohov first. Ron hated his uncles' murderer so much, and he was one-handed from when Hope had taken his hand off in the Department of Mysteries ("Wish it had been the head instead," Hope had hissed afterwards). Well, she should say that she only recognized Dolohov, but that was enough.

Hermione calculated quickly in her head if they'd spotted her yet -they hadn't- and if they'd destroy the train to kill her -which was highly likely-, and if they'd notice when she stood -undoubtedly. Still, weighing all those options, Hermione stood, striding towards the closest door connecting one train car to the next, and slipping out.

If she could get to the last train car, she could actually hop off it and use Hope's broom, still tucked away, safe and sound, in her beaded bag, currently swinging where it was looped at her hip.

She passed from one train car to the next with her wand tucked up her sleeve in the wand holster she'd borrowed off of Hope (and Hermione was really going to need to invest in one).

"Where you runnin' off ta, Granger?" Dolohov crooned just as she made it to the last train car and whirled around, the wand sliding into her hand easily. "Ya almost fooled us with that get-up, but not quite…And where's your green-eyed friend? The Master's a bit desperate to get his hands on her." He licked his lips and Hermione's own twisted in disdain.

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Hermione retorted icily. "Hope Potter is dead."

The Death Eaters behind Dolohov twitched in confusion, looking to one another. "You're  _lying,"_  Dolohov didn't sound too sure.

How many times had Hope goaded her enemies? Hermione had lost count.

"Am I?" Hermione arched an eyebrow. "I found her with some dark-robed bastard with a hand in her chest. I figured he was one of yours, but I guess _not_ …you should tell that master of yours that he's too late…Hope Potter has been dead for more than a day and he didn't even know it… _sad really."_

She was winding them up, they were reaching their boiling point.

"If you're going to be ruthless, be ruthless," Hope's voice echoed inside Hermione's head. "People don't win wars by having tea." Even as a figment of her imagination, Hope was right.

And with a shuddering groan was heard, as though the train car knew what was coming, before an explosion belled outwards from the compressed bomb that Hermione had dropped in the center of the car as she'd walked across it, a creation of the Weasley Twins, who so often caused explosions on a smaller scale.

This one, however, was nearly strong enough to take out the train car and everyone in it…while, miles away, back in the Borough of Islington in London, a group of Death Eaters had attempted to breach Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, not knowing that it had been quite thoroughly tricked up with traps of the Weasley's design. The subsequent explosion was reported on by both magical and muggle newspapers, though the supposed train bomb was relegated to muggle newspapers alone.

But those explosions set two courses in motion. The first was the spreading of the rumor that would eventually be wholeheartedly believed to be true, that Hope Potter was dead.

The second, which was the far more important one in the grand scheme of history, was that the Second Wizarding War had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news is that I've passed my boards so I'll be working as a nurse probably around the middle of August. I don't know how frequently updates will be but I've made a monthly schedule on my greygryffindor tumblr that will be updated as I finish chapters. Its likely I might update two fics a month, but we'll see.
> 
> Last Hope Option, a line Hermione's inner!Hope says, and a little of the book section that Hope reads is inspired by The Magicians :)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: @greygryffindor


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